


floating point exception

by ooka



Series: Incremental Development [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aunt Peggy Carter, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, M/M, Minor Peggy Carter/Daniel Sousa, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Rhodey Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2018-07-12 10:12:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 96,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7098520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ooka/pseuds/ooka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony, after the Civil War.  (Post CA:CW)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Debugger

**Author's Note:**

> When software code is compiled, there are 3 types of compiler errors.  One of these errors is called a run-time error, which only occurs when you have correctly compiled the code, and any linked items (files, references, etc) are linked without errors and attempt to make the program run.  
> 
> There are 2 types of run-time errors.  One of these is a fatal error, which occurs when the executed program crashes unceremoniously.  An example of this, would be if there was a variable retrieving the answer to 1/0.  Mathematically, any number divided by zero has no defined value, and the program would crash even though the code would be correct.
> 
> The only clue to the issue with the executed program would read: Floating point exception. It would be up to the developer to realize what was causing the issue and fix it, if they could indeed fix it.
> 
> (Floating point exceptions are always fixable since they are always caused by a variable being divided by zero.  The developer simply has to figure out where their logic has failed them and make sure they fix that code.  
> 
> The real problem is a developer usually only has perspective on a problem and sometimes can’t see the issue until they walk away or get another pair of eyes on their code.  Not to say their solution isn't correct on the whole, just that a portion of the implementation needs finesse.)  

When a developer needs to figure out something that has gone wrong, the use a computer program called debugger to help them discover what has gone wrong with their program. It's the first step any developer takes when trying to fix a problem.

* * *

From 54985-466-8653

Tony.

 

 

Tony lays there in Siberia, aching from every inch of his body. His false rib cage is broken. The suit is still powered, running at close to 38%, but the list of different systems damaged, or in need of repairs requires scrolling.

"Boss," FRIDAY whispers in his ear. "I've sent a helicopter to your location."

"There was a moment," he says, dazed. His vision is blurry. "Before Ultron but after Manhattan, where I thought, maybe all this could work."

But Tony keeps forgetting his first instinct, the one that has him reaching for the scotch, the one that can sketch a fully functional design for a new gun when he lets his thoughts wander, usually isn't the right one.

"Boss," FRIDAY whispers and she sounds wrecked. Tony huffs laugh because she is an AI and  _shouldn't_  sound wrecked. He couldn't even get that right.

FRIDAY is still talking in his ear, but Tony feels fuzzy, tired down to his bones, and he just drifts.

 

 

To:  _itsybitsyspiderman_

I don't just lie to pretty aunts in Queens. Your SI Internship starts on Monday. Wear khaki's for orientation, but after you get out of that, wear some ironic t-shirts and jeans. You'll fit right in with the nerd squad.

You're in the biomedical group. Minchen is an idiot but he has decent ideas. Perez actually knows how to do good work, so he's your mentor.

Don't get caught kid.

-you know who

 

 

Cap had had his ridiculous suit on that Tony kept trying to rework - at least make a few upgrades, but Cap always dodged the offers - and had been reading a file or maybe perusing Facebook on a StarkTablet. His shield lay on the table top, and he had an intensity as he read whatever it was. Tony had wanted to make a joke, but there was something serene about his focus, that he didn't want to break.

Natasha had been laughing with Bruce from their seats at the end of the conference table as they discussed travels in India. Hers had been highly edited, but Bruce hadn't seemed to care that day. There had been something there in both their faces, just a second of something that Tony sees now, and he mourns the loss for both of them. The steadiness and comfort they had wanted for a long time.

Hawkeye and Thor had been exchanging stories of ever increasing ridiculousness about different challenges they had been a part of. Tony definitely doesn't believe he had been a part of a bicycle gang for a cover, and Thor, hopefully, hadn't run naked through what sounded like an Amazonian goddess filled planet as a part of his of age ceremony.

He had sat to the right, windows at his back as he had worked on the scenario. JARVIS had been in his ear, softly telling him about changes he was making in the back end to the Avengers training scenario.

"Sir, I don't think it would be great to begin your first training exercise with specifically targeted attacks on the Avengers that could potentially isolate everyone."

"No, J," Tony disagrees loudly. His fingers are flying across the keyboard, pulling in the basic profiles for the Avengers one by one for the program to take into account. "We need to have a few guys programmed specifically to attack our weaknesses. Pull out the list of the weaknesses per Avenger. Target our top 3. The rest of guys can just be be assorted mindless idiots."

JARVIS faithfully updates the combatants on the second screen. Tony scans the code briefly as JARVIS continues to write out five or so targeted villains for each of them to deal with. He's coming up with some pretty fantastical names. Zzzax definitely sounds like some version of a keysmash. Tony lets it slide for the moment. He'll get a database of generic names set up later. That'll tickle Clint's funny bone. Thor would enjoy creating some villain names in his Hamlet-y way of speaking (which seriously has ruined any Shakespeare plays that he didn't already loathe on the principle of it being Shakespeare).

"Shouldn't we be trying to work on coming together as a team and not our individual weaknesses?" Cap asks.

Tony glances back to him, and he's watching Tony now. The tablet's on the table for now. Tony shrugs. "I think we need to take on some crazy things to get our attention focused on working together. And if it's something we can't overcome alone, the team will be forced to work together to win."

Cap watches him for a beat longer before nodding. "Makes sense. The profiles based on the intel from the Manhattan fight, right? We probably need to update them. It's been a good six months since then."

Grabbing Cap's tablet is easy. Tony ignores the browser window open on an article about the Beatles and opens the command prompt. It's takes a few more keystrokes than he would like, but JARVIS is paying attention like always and prepopulating the terms in the window to help him navigate down to the private server level he has set up specifically for the Avengers related items. He eases his way past the firewalls and security measures with JARVIS by-passing them before he even pulls up the next one.

He pulls up the viewable PDFs for the statistics for the team before sliding the tablet back to Cap.

Tony turns back to the program on the screen. "Okay J. Have we gotten the security parameters beyond the initial, 'oh shit don't let anyone die so Fury can't kill me' level we talked about?"

JARVIS' modulated voice sounded amused. "The file has been updated with more instances. There will be notifications if there are minor injuries, but any majors ones will end the simulations immediately."

"List the types that qualify as major injuries."

"Burns, a penetrating injury -"

" _Boss_."

"How did you know about my mission in Guadalajara last month?" Natasha queried. "That was level 7."

He turns back, leaning back in his chair. "Oh you know. This and that."

Natasha is leaning heavily on Cap's chair, watching him. Sometimes he feels like she can split him open like a watermelon and can count all his thoughts and secrets like they are seeds in his pulpy flesh. He waves at the ceiling when it gets too much.

She's a super spy. She could figure it out.

"This is good intel Tony," Cap says. Tony swings his gaze back to the man. He's serious, a small twist of the lips. "Can I review this to make sure I can prepare training sessions correctly?"

Tony nods. "JARVIS, allow Cap access to all items under level Justice League security level."

"Yes sir. Mr. Rogers, if you take a look at the tablet, you will notice an icon for the Avengers. This file will include…"

His eyes go back to the screen, ignoring the cozy scene of the rest of the team crowded around the tablet with JARVIS narrating the various footage or information in front of them.

"Boss can you respond?"

The simulation needs to be finished before the team can take up in the new training room. He needs to make sure the drones are programed to get moving as soon as they start the simulation.

There are environmental factors he hasn't finished yet, like the wind. He needs to make sure to add a randomizer to any wind generation, so Clint will have to think on his feet and can't predict the changes. Also, he can't forget to make sure the drones that have traces of Vibranium in their skeletons are focused on Thor and Cap since they can take the heavier hits.

He opens a new window and types in a query for JARVIS to check the drones he manufactured and to make sure the weapons arrays on each matches to those they are using in the simulation and to already start manufacturing on the back up ones. He has a feeling they aren't going to end up coming out of this session in one piece.

A hand grazes his shoulder, and Tony looks up. The light in the room has adjusted. Must have been an hour or so. "The rest went to take a look around the training room. You almost ready?" Cap queries.

"Yeah. We're about ready. JARVIS?" Tony looks up at the nearest blinking camera.

"Ready sir."

"Okay, let's get this show on the road then Cap," Tony says. He exits out of the windows he had been working in quickly before putting the computer in sleep mode.

Cap clears his throat. "Steve. Call me Steve."

Tony tosses him a tired grin. "Oh I think I like Cap more." Cap's face falls, and Tony redirects, "But I can call you Steve. I think. It may take me a while to get use to remembering you are a mere mortal and not someone Dad used to ramble about."

"Howard talked about me often?" Steve's tone is incredulous, but he holds out a hand to Tony. Tony, ever the gentleman, takes it and stands up.

"Oh yeah. Favorite story was the day Aunt Peg shot at your shield. Said he had never met a more firey dame or a more noble man." He leads the way out of the room and down towards the stairs. Steve trailed beside him.

"Did he and Peggy ever..." Steve pauses at the top of the stairs.

Tony turns back. "Nah. Aunt Peg would have shot him in the family jewels and then I would never have been here," Tony says with a smile makes up for what it lacks in authenticity with wattage. "He met Mom while she worked in the early days of SHIELD. Fell in love, had me, died in a crash crash."

"I'm sorry Tony," Steve murmurs and they continue with their descent.

Tony shrugs. "Long time ago. Can't miss someone too much after 20 years."

"I dunno," Steve says. "I can still feel the ones from 70 years ago."

" _Boss_."

When they enter the simulation room, the rest of the team is playing with the goodies Tony has been working on. JARVIS must have shown them the armory next door.

"Simulation beginning in two. Get suited up. JARVIS, prep."

Tony calls the suit to him merging on his body in a familiar hum. Natasha adjusts the Bites on her wrist. Clint throws a few more arrows in his quiver. Bruce is standing around in his purple pants, breathing in slowly. "Come brothers and sister in arms!" Thor crows. "Let's defeat the giant white blobs."

The projections of Central Park begin to take over the room, the fans kick up, and the group of white robots light up. Names display across their torsos. Bruce starts looking a little green.

"You built a real holodeck," Clint accuses. "A real life holodeck."

"Only a true nerd would know that Legolas," Tony returns. He takes to the air to survey the landscape. The room is really the size of 2 football fields, so they robots will be slow going as they boot up, but the smaller ones will make it across the space pretty quickly.

"What is this holodeck you speak of?" Thor booms even as a grin spreads across his face.

The robots begin moving as Natasha says, "Fight now, marathon Star Trek later."

"Took the words right out of my mouth," Cap -  _Steve_  - adds. "Ready Avengers?"

"Born ready," Clint yells as he grapples around on the simulated building until he has a perch. Then a robot flies by his position and lets loose a wave of fire from it's mouth. "Really Stark? A flamethrower?"

"Prepare for every situation," Tony spouts, weaving around the giant fist of a robot.

There is roar, and the Hulk has joined the party. "HULK SMASH."

"Please do," Steve hisses as a blow hits his shield.

Widow flips around a robot weaving around trying to find a weakness. It moves with her, slower but still fingers trailing after her every shift. Cap tosses his shield which the robot bats away easily. It gives Widow the time she needs to find a gap in the armor at the neck and start tearing out cords.

Tony has to look away because the flamethrowing bird comes straight at him, beak open and fire filling the air. "Come on JARVIS, did we need this much fire?"

"Actually sir, yes. We did."

"Don't sound so smug," Tony bites back as he ducks. He throws an arm out before an arrow strikes the bot and it blows up in his face. "Little close there Katniss."

" _Flamethrower_   _robots_  Stark," comes over the communicator.

"I'm not living that one down for a while," he sighs.

There is a grunt and Cap says, "Not when they just nearly got my eyebrows."

Another yell is in the air, and Thor somehow summons lightning inside the building to take down one of the water wielding robots and an electrical flavored one. Both burst.

Hulk is ripping apart the swarm on him while Hawkeye explodes any that he can shoot.

" _Boss. The helicopter is here_."

They continue on like this for a while. Chirps are exchanged, there is a moment where Clint's perch explodes and Tony is too far away to catch him, only to have Thor to snag him right before he hits the ground, and Hulk gets a little too enthusiastic about tossing parts that he snags Natasha in the temple with a stray piece of robot armor and Steve in the gut with a robot arm. Tony probably has a head injury from how hard one robot smacked him in the head.

Eventually they beat down every last piece and JARVIS powers down the projection of the landscape. The Hulk has retreated, and Bruce is there, breathing hard, but there with a tiny smile. They are all bloody and sweaty and grinning. "Go take a shower," Steve orders and they all fall out, joking and laughing and Clint is recounting the firebird explosion with wide gestures. Something in his chest blooms at the sight.

A proximity alarm tells him about the hand Steve puts on his arm. He has the face plate pull back as he faces him. "Yes Cap?"

"Thanks for this Tony." Steve's relaxed, lips twisting upwards. "I think we really needed this."

The sincerity in the statement pulls at the low vulnerable place in him that Obie boarded up all those years ago. "That's what I'm here for. The never ending supply of fun toys," he jokes.

"It still means something," Steve says, voice low. "To me at least."

"Any time Steve," he returns, surprised to find he means it.

Steve pats his armor before walking towards the showers as well, and Tony watches him go for a beat,

then two,

then three.

" _Boss you really need to move. The helicopter is as close as I could get it."_

Tony starts into a wakefulness. "Got it Fry," he groans. He pushes himself up and the armor adjusts to help him. The noise it makes is audible, which is never a good sign for the status of the suit,

"Oh thank god boss. The autopilot is offline, and I was about to resort to calling Miss Potts and having her yell at you into moving."

"Abort any thoughts of that. Okay where is this plane?" He is wheezing, but standing so that has to count for something.

"To your left. I need you to walk out the opening right there, and I'll catch you."

"I think you are the only one who would right now," he jokes as he shuffles forward. His left arm is moving more jerkily than he wants but at least it's moving. It feels like he's barely kept all his bones in his skin.

"Always boss," her tone is warm and sincere, but Tony want to believe but can't because JARVIS used to say that, and he's gone now. "What about the shield?"

 _My father made that_.

 _He killed my mother_.

Tony catches sight of gleaming vibranium. He holds out his right arm, "Fry, turn on the cap magnet." The old joke tastes like ash in his mouth.

The gauntlet powers up, and the shield come flying at him. He reaches out with the left hand and catches it with both. His arms shakes and the rim of the shield suddenly looks like it's from above instead of in front of him.

 _Do it. Kill me like you killed them. Do it._  DO IT!

"Boss. Colonel Rhodes is asking for you. He says you have to be doing something stupid. Should I patch him in?"

"In a minute," Tony replies and trudges to the opening, shield in hand. The HUD's vision is slightly greyed out around the edges, and the battery percentage is down to 18%. "Whelp this is going to suck. Time to play catch baby girl." He just steps out.

And he's falling for a moment, for  _forever_ , before the helicopter comes up, side open and he neatly falls into the open seat. It's jarring, don't get him wrong, but it at least gets him in something moving. He places the shield in the seat beside him, and presses the button on the center console to remove the suit. It melts away, and he has to take too cold breathes that nearly cause him to hyperventilate.

FRIDAY counsels him to take deep breathes, and he bends until he has his head between his legs, no matter how much his ribs creak and protest. He stays there for a while, trying to count the beats between this breath and the next one. When Tony can actually count to four beats and feel his lungs inflate until they feel tight, he sits back up.

"Patch Rhodey in, Fry. Secure as possible."

She hums and Tony closes his eyes as he tries his best to meld into the chair. "Tones?" Rhodey sounds a little high on pain medication.

Tony smiles to himself. "Hey babe," he retorts.

"What stupid shit have you gotten into now?"

"Some of the stupidests of shit piles," he replies. "I found Cap and his friend. We found the guy behind the bombings in Vienna. We split up and went our separate ways and I am coming home."

Rhodey grunts and there is a rustle of sheets. "What am I missing here?"

"Underwater prison that Ross has the rest of Team Cap in."

"Jesus, you have to be kidding me. That's against the Accords. They should be in a cell in the Terrorism Centre in Vienna awaiting trial."

Tony grunts as he sits up. "I think Ross swooped in while we were on our way out and grabbed them before the UN knew about it. I need to put some feelers out to figure out what exactly went down there."

There is a quiet beep, FRIDAY taking note and already tracking down some leads. "What else Tony? I can hear your moans from here."

He opens his eyes against the window, the blank white stares back at him. "I lost it a little."

"Tell me," Rhodey hums.

Tony breathes in for a second and counts -  _one, two, three, four_  - before letting it all out in a rush. "There was a video of December 16th 1991."

"What," Rhodey pauses. "What are you ta-wait. Your parents?"

The window is cold, and it helps with the headache he has pounding between his ears. It sounds like a heartbeat. "Apparently Dad pissed off Hydra, and they sent the Winter Soldier after him."

The silence between them is heavy. Tony has to swallow back the lump in his throat. "Dad wasn't drunk. Their tires was shot out. They crashed. He pulled dad out of the car and killed him and then went to mom's side and crushed her throat. Dad wasn't drunk."

There feels like a million shattered pieces inside of him, illusions, ideas, and so much anger that broke and what's left is stuffed inside of him. Moving with him and pressing against vital organs and just aches.

"Tony, Tones. Stay with me buddy."

"He knew.  _Fuck_  Nat probably knew too." Tony spits out.

Rhodey is calm, a lighthouse in a churning storm. Always has been and always will be. "Who knew what?"

"Cap. About Mom and Dad."

There is a low sound on the other end. "Fuck him. Who cares about him. What matters is you're okay. You're still here. You coming home right?"

"Yeah, right now."

"We'll deal with everything later then. Want me to tell you about the terrible food they are trying to poison me with here?"

The window is cold, Tony aches inside and out, and all he can see when he closes the eyelid of that grainy footage. But he smiles. "Yeah. Tell me Rhodey."

He spends the rest of the flight back listening to Rhodey tell him about his hospital adventures.

 

 

From:  _itsybitsyspiderman_

Mr. Stark,

Thank you. I mean you didn't have to and don't think I'm not grateful because this is insane. I never thought I could get an internship with SI, especially while I was in high school. Definitely when I was 15.

Dr. Perez is awesome! He has this project he is working on to be able to create a robotic prosthetics that works with a microchip to allow people to walk again after losing a limb.

But yeah. Thanks for this. This is everything I have ever wanted to do.

I got a the work cell you sent me. If you ever need anything I'll be there.

Sincerely,

Peter Parker

 

 

Team Cap busts out of the RAFT a month after Siberia while Tony is holding a press conference about the future of the Sokvoia Accords. Thaddeus Ross is at his side for the first twenty minutes before he stalks out. Tony grins and says, "He is already on the case, tracking down every vigilante who hasn't signed yet" to the twittering crowd. The door slams behind the secretary of state.

"As I was saying," he continues. "The Avengers will be taking a step back as the UN continues to evaluate the current rules and regulations around the Accords after the incident in Germany and the whole Winter Soldier," he waves his hand, "situation."

"The Joint Counter Terrorism Centre will be splitting out with a new division called S.W.O.R.D. It has been deemed by the UN that current Deputy Task Force Commander Everett Ross will be taking charge of this new group. They will be the man power behind the additional investigation into all the enhanced individuals during and after the Vienna bombings." He nods to the shorter man who slid into Ross' place beside him moments earlier. "In addition, Commander Ross and his team will be the enforcement behind any decisions the UN makes at this time."

More than a few reporters' attention gets pulled to their buzzing phones, and Tony claps his hands together, jolting a few in the front row. "Okay what questions do you have for me today?"

Hands promptly appear in the air, and Tony leans around glancing at the faces in the crowd. His lips press together briefly, before pointing, "You. Jennifer is that you? Still with CNN?"

A tall, dark skinned beauty stands briefly, "Yes, actually. What do you have to say about the rumors that you brought in more vigilantes who have not signed the Accords to Germany?"

Tony grips the podium tightly, fingers flexing against the wood, but the strain is hidden underneath his suit. "You know to never to listen to rumors," he retorts.

"I know an evasion when I hear one Mr. Stark," she counters flatly. Tony grins widely at that.

"Good to know you know your craft Jenny," he replies. "Okay I know I am going to get this question about five hundred different ways, so let me answer this now this one time. Don't try to ask it again. I will skip you, even you Christine of my heart." The Vanity Fair reporter glowers at him in the middle of the crowd.

"Yes, I brought in a few extra guns to a fight. At the time, only 2 participants had not signed the accords, Black Panther and Spiderman. His Majesty T'Challa of Wakanda shipped a signed copy to the UN after the Germany incident, so we have Black Panther covered now. We are working with Spiderman on his concerns around giving his information in a manner that can be used against him in the future. This is one of the current topics the UN is looking into with the current revisions of the Sokovia Accords." His smile never wavers.

The crowd of journalists look at him, ready and awaiting his next call. Tony leans and looks around at the crowd, looking to something. "Next….You look familiar Daily Bugle." He wiggles his fingers at the weary journalist.

The man straightens. His suit is generic and a little worn around the edges. Tony has to keep his thoughts straight because his brown hair is windblown and the whole picture looks too familiar. "Ben Ulrich, Mr. Stark, Daily Bugle. Spiderman has been spotted wearing a new uniform that has some technological upgrades. It looks, frankly, like something out of your wheelhouse."

"Is there a question in there?" Tony asks idly. His gaze swings around the room. "I know you have one straight from Jameson's mouth, because let's be honest, that's where this is coming from. Triple J over there. I'll make this short. Yes, I am helping Spidey because he needed an upgrade if he was going to stand with me, because seriously, you can't stand with me and not look cool. It's a requirement."

The murmurs grow louder at that, and Tony can see more than a few smirks in the crowd. Ulrich has a wince across his face, so Tony's on the mark there. "So really, Ben Ulrich of the Daily Bugle, what are you dying to ask me?"

"Are you helping other vigilantes who have not signed the Accords like Spiderman? Maybe Captain America?"

"Any one who has not signed the Accords is, at this point in time, in direct conflict with the Accords, as long as they are in a country aligned with the United Nations, and all citizens are charged with trying to help bring those persons to justice. No one more so than me, considering I was one of the first Avengers to sign. Did you know it was part of the Accords is that you are beholden to UN committee to try and apprehend anyone in a UN country?" He paused and took in his audience, "Oh, I see some confused faces. It's somewhere on page 497 on that novel. But as long as the persons are on a negotiating list with the UN, they're safe. Like Spiderman."

Reaching out, he takes the handy water bottle in hand and takes a sip before continuing. "At this time, I have had no contact with any Avenger that is not Colonel Rhodes or the being named Vision. Also lay off Spidey. He's a decent guy who just wants to help."

Ulrich nods before retaking his seat.

"Ed from LA something, you're up."

"Edward Morris, LA Times. What is Mr. Banner's thoughts on the split in the Avengers?"

Tony straightens. "Doctor Banner is working on some research at this moment, and he cannot be reached for comment."

The dark headed man isn't satisfied. "Isn't it dangerous to have misplaced the Hulk? Should the public be panicking?"

"No," Tony's tone is tense. " _Dr_.  _Banner_  is doing research for SI at this time and has been communicating his location through his reports back to his research team. Okay, who is our next contestant?"

The next reporter is a mousy brunette from the New York Times. "Mr. Stark, what do you think should be the next steps taken in regard to the W-" she begins before Everheart is standing and asking, "Did you know anything about the break out of the Falcon, Scarlet Witch, Hawkeye and Ant Man from the RAFT facility where they were being held under the orders of the Secretary of State?"

His emotions flash before fading away. He doesn't even pause in his performance.

"Oh so that's where Thaddy disappeared so quickly to. Also shame on you for breaking up this flow we had going. Well, I think it's safe to say I didn't know since you just informed me, but I would not condone any attack on a nation supporting the Accords. But if they were simply being held at the RAFT awaiting transport, I'm surprised the UN was not willing to share the information with the Avengers at this point in time."

He takes in the shell shocked faces before adding on, "Oh look, there is my cue card to say time's up. It's been a pleasure, and any additional questions can go to my PA in the corner over there. Wave at the hungry mob of reporters Jonah. Don't break the poor guy people, he's new, and I would like him to last more than a few weeks."

Tony waves over the clammering press and heads out the same side exit Ross had taken earlier. The younger Ross is close on his heels. "You need to support the Accords publicly Stark," he tosses the second the doors close behind him.

"Did you not see that show back there? I was your dog and pony in that show. You guys need to step up your media presence. Do you need training? I know some lovely PR people who would love to get their claws into you and your organization."

He continues on his way. There is a lovely Secretary of State at the end of the hall, red in the face. "Did you tell Steve Rogers where his friends were being held?"

"No General. I did not tell Captain America about your under the sea prison. How would that conversation even go? You had me monitored while I was there, after I left, and I wouldn't be surprised if you had all of the NSA manpower pointed at anything with my name on it."

"Stark!" Ross bellows. "You do not have any power in this situation, I can throw you in a hole as deep and as dark as I want, and I will have the backing of the entire UN. Don't cross me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Tony calls as his suit constructs itself around him. "Not at all."

He takes off our the nearest window. He has FRIDAY send a payment to the building's owner before he pushes a bit harder, a bit faster, so all he can think about is making sure he doesn't crash and not his former teammates faces in the RAFT.

 

 

To  _spiderboy_

smart has nothing to do with age and everything to do with ability

To  _spiderboy_

also I have the feeling you could make me millions with some crazy super sticky glue invention

To  _spiderboy_

i need the money to feed my alcoholism

To  _Mr Stark_

I created a nerf dart grenade today, so maybe you can patent that?

To  _spiderboy_

you had a nerf gun fight without me?! For shame.

To  _Mr Stark_

Some intern said the hulk was a mindless idiot and he wouldn't listen to anyone say anything otherwise

To  _spiderboy_

good job

To  _spiderboy_

the paintball grenades you will find on your desk tomorrow are not from me. the glitter is totally from me.

To  _spiderboy_

tar and feather him kid

 

 

There are tears slipping down his younger version's boyish cheeks, silent sobs racking his body. Tony has to take a moment to realize where he is, when he is. He knows the second he sees a vivid Ana Jarvis running around a corner, bright red hair, lime green dress circling around her, and how her expression just drops when she sees the younger version of him, probably all of 6 years old, in the corner of the room.

"Tony? Dear what is wrong?" She crosses the room in a heartbeat and folds herself beside him against the window seat. Shadows play across her face, making her cheeks look gaunt, and older than she is in this moment.

Something seizes in him at the image.

Young Tony leans towards her warm, her comfortable presence. "Dad said he was disappointed I hadn't finished testing and documenting the changes I made to the mechanical model of the plane. The engine just stopped working mid-flight, and I thought I had figured out that issue, but it came crashing down in the foyer and just broke apart and I have to start again. I didn't want to disappoint him again Ana. Not again."

"Oh Tony", Ana whispers, as she brushes his tears away. "You will try your hardest to prove everyone wrong, won't you?"

Tony doesn't want to disappoint her, so he whispers yes. He can't understand why her eyes start welling up too. "I'll be the best, so I can prove everyone wrong."

She laughed her delighted laugh. The one she gives Jarvis when he picks her up and spins her around. "Oh  _lelkem_ , you won't be proving everyone wrong." She wipes her eyes quickly before she places both hands his cheeks so he looks her straight in the eye. "You'll be proving me right."

Tony doesn't. He just. He drops the parts in his hands, and hugs her tight and close. Breathes in and clutches her. She holds on just as tight.

"Fry shut down the simulation," Tony breathes in and it rattles around in his chest.

"Yes boss."

The room is dark without the simulation up and running. Friday turns on the lights as he moves through the room. He's a ghost workshop. The little light from the moon illuminates the place on the table where the shield lays, half under some rag that Tony isn't sure he threw or if one of the slumbering robots tossed.

The claw marks look fresh and jagged down the metal. They aren't deep, only surface scratches. It feels like he floats there, because Tony can't remember moving. Can't remember putting down the long emptied glass (that's been refilled maybe one too many times). He slides his fingers down the marks. Down the indents on the metal on the side from where is hit him.

He feels the ache down in his chest. Grainy footage fills his mind. Blood rushing down the side of his face, in his mouth. He killed my mother, rings in his ears.

"I don't know if you could be more disappointed in me."

Tony's not sure who he is talking to, but whoever it is, they probably are.

He lurches away from the table, grabs his glass and goes back to the bottle of whiskey. "FRIDAY, show me Mark 15 of the exoskeleton." He says as he pours himself another drink.

"Yes Boss," she replies.

The room lightens, a hologram bursts to life and Tony takes a sip before he starts. "Okay let's break this thing down again Fry. Walk me through it."

 

 

From 54985-466-8653

Tony. Are you there?

 

 

"You look worn down Tony," Rhodes says from his place at the beam when Tony comes into the complex, jacket already lost somewhere. Vision is standing near enough in case he needs to help Rhodey, but after a few iterations on the exoskeleton, he's steadier on his feet.

Tony's smile is a fleeting twist of the lips at the sight of Rhodey standing, Rhodey moving. "Only you would know Rhodey."

He grabs a discarded tablet and sits on the conveniently placed couch near the new workout room. With a few swipes, the device is projecting a mini version of the exoskeleton Rhodey is currently wearing. After placing the tablet on the ground so he can manipulate image he duplicates the prototype design with a flick of his wrist before sliding the original away. "FRIDAY," he calls. "Save any changes done here as the Mark 17."

"Yes boss," she affirms.

Tony watches Rhodey out of the corner of his eye, see the struggles Rhodey has as he adjusts the level of support the skeleton gives him. He expands out the design, focusing on moving the support module higher up and easier to grip but still sleek enough to not look clunky. He adjusts some of the lines, thins the metal used. Maybe there is light weight solution that doesn't look as alien as the current version.

Maybe there is a way he can simplify it down to a way where it can slip under the clothes for users. Looking like an accessory instead of a crucial piece to the lives of some people.

Rhodey still looks exhausted using it, and his steps get clunkier. There has to be a way to auto adjust the support. But that requires motors similar to his boots. Or is this even something in the legs? Maybe this is something with the chip communicating with the exoskeleton.

Tony sketches a note to take a look at the data coming back from the chip and if there is anything he and Fry missed in the initial account for output. Or if there is any data he's not taking into account from the chip itself. He knows he forgot about the pain inputs and monitoring that. He needs to keep an eye to make sure Rhodey isn't pushing himself too hard. Users family members, doctors and therapists would probably like that information as well, so he should definitely get that method in and stored...somewhere. Privacy settings too. Don't want to make the any one feel more helpless. He knows that feeling too well.

The couch dips, and Rhodey hisses. "Never thought learning to walk would suck this much."

"It's why we forget it the first time. Too traumatic," Tony counters softly.

He adds an additional note beneath that to check on the security protocols for the chip and see what, if any, attempted hacks have been made today. Leaning back, he sets the design to spin as he looks at it, checking for immediate failures. He notes a few points to test, knows Rhodey is quietly watching him, Vision is still drifting in near vicinity, but idle in his perusing of the situation.

"FRIDAY, test feasibility, and make any necessary changes to the design before you start manufacturing. Add reminders about the notes for me. Also, take a look at the data the chip is getting. I think we're missing something, just don't know what," he calls.

The hologram flickers for a moment as she takes actively control of it, and Tony makes a note to fix that issue. Can't have a new tablet doing something like that before it hits the production cycle. "Got it. Standard notification procedures?" she queries.

"Yeah. Thanks girl," he replies, picking up the tablet and already making the motions to turn it off. He tosses it to the non Rhodey occupied side of the couch and turns. "Any issues honey bear?"

Rhodey's eyes crinkle a little bit. "Not any to report, like there weren't any issues with the last versions, all sixteen of them apparently."

Tony falls back against the couch, "You definitely had an issue with round one. They jerked like no one's business. I distinctly remember bitching."

"That was you Tony. Not me."

"Oh," Tony mutters, "Maybe that was me. Sounds like me anyway."

He stares up at the ceiling and wonders how much longer he has to be down here. Pretending before he heads down and works on Mark 17, the new tablet specs that RD sent up that are clearly shit based on the prototype he was using, and there is some paperwork Pepper had expedited over, a team of lawyers he has a conference all with in a few hours to check on the Accords strategy, and maybe some tinkering on a few ideas Peter has sent him an email about.

"That's fast work for a month since I got out of recovery Tony," Rhodey muses after a moment.

Tony shrugs. "I had some in the pipeline in case."

Rhodey sits up, a wince on his face. He's definitely in pain, and probably refusing to take his pain meds. Tony knows not to fight him on that any more. "When did you start these? After Manhattan?"

Maybe he could ask DUMMY to bring up a bottle of whiskey, some ice and glass. But he would probably accidentally add some motor oil it and no one needs to be back in the hospital this week. Vision can't take it. "About the time you went to basic," he answers.

There is a sharp intake from beside him. " _Tony_."

"I come up with the best solutions when I am close to the situation," he replies. "That's what Obie always said."

"Tony, you weren't imaging multiple scenarios where I didn't come back whole, were you?" Rhodey's voice...all Tony can remember is the time when he called Rhodey after the whole Obie situation was over. The tone is the same as when Tony had said, Obie was the one who had me kidnapped and then I killed him and he had said, Tony, it's me. It's okay. You had to. If it's ever you versus anyone, I need you to make it out, okay?

"138 missions is a lot of time to think," Tony mused.

A hand curls around his shoulders, and they stay there for a while both staring into nothing. Vision drifts in and stands in the doorway, keeping watch even though there is no chance of interruptions in the silent building.

 

 

From:  _avengerslegalteam_

CC:  _avengersprteam_

We have our strategy for getting project aftermath ready. Shall we proceed?

To:  _avengerslegalteam_ ;  _avengersprteam_

Yes.

 

 

"Jarvis," he asks, so young and fragile. He doesn't know what his life is going to be like, how he is going to disappoint everyone. How he is going to disappoint himself.

"Yes Master Anthony?" Oh Jarvis. He had forgotten how Jarvis looked. Impossibly tall, kind eyes, grey and wrinkled, but like comfort, like home.

Tiny him adjusts his grip on the screwdriver in his hands and looks down to the circuit board in his hand. "What are the parameters necessary to make someone a friend?"

He never looked the first time, but somehow he had to have tracked it or BARF is filling in the gaps - it's probably filling in the gaps, but Jarvis always cared more than any Stark deserved. But Jarvis puts down the dish he was cleaning, and bends down. "There are no parameters," Jarvis says. "You simply be yourself."

"How do you maintain a friendship?" he asks. "Is there daily maintenance and certain standards to make sure everything is working as it should."

Something flitters across Jarvis' face. "I do not believe you like it when I say, you simply be yourself, " he muses, taking note when Tony nods. "Let's take an example to explain. With Miss Carter, I lend a hand when she asks. I ask about her day and listen when she wants to speak. But there are moments where I read the newspaper, and she peruses a casefile at the breakfast table. Does the fact that we aren't speaking mean we aren't friends?"

Young Tony tilts his head, "Friendship seems to be something that either is or isn't. There is no passive state of friendship."

"Correct Master Tony," Jarvis beams. "We are still friends occupying the same space or not. She is a person I care about greatly even when she isn't present in the moment."

"Oh," Tiny Tony hums, turning the thought over in his head. "That makes sense."

"Have you made a friend?" Jarvis asks, hopeful. Older Tony, current Tony, feels his chest tighten at the expression. Jarvis had always has such a hopeful optimism when it came to Tony's future and what he would become one day. He wonders if Jarvis still has one, watching from up there.

He wonders if he has broken Jarvis' heart again.

"No," Tony responds, "But I wanted to know what to expect when it did happen. I wanted to make sure I was prepared for the challenge."

"Being a friend isn't a challenge," Jarvis says. "You simply are."

Tony shrugs, "Still. I want to make sure I can fulfill all the requirements."

Jarvis straightens, a smile on his lips. "You will perform admirably as always Master Anthony. Now, you should go finish working on your project while I finish the dishes. We wouldn't want Mrs. Jarvis to find me behind on my chores."

Tony beams back and turns back to the table where he was fiddling with what would eventually be a voice recording device.

There is a pause, and older Tony influences the scene with the barely a whisper of a thought. "Jarvis," he looks back up. "You're my friend, right?"

Jarvis looks back, and Tony can see a glimpse of the older Jarvis in his smile, the one who survived Howard and Maria and even Ana. "We're more than that Master Anthony."

"FRIDAY end the simulation." The old mansion's dark outside the window as he sits down at that tiny table in a dated, yet tasteful kitchen.

There are few things Tony remembers about his mother these days, but he remembers how she and Ana used to sit around this table, whiskey glasses in hand and bursting into peals of laughter every while or so. Sometimes Aunt Peg was there, bright lips curled as she mentioned some story about Jarvis or Howard. Mostly Howard.

Jarvis would putter around, nervously watching the women in his life bond. Howard would have a cigarette in his mouth, a drink in hand and look up every once in awhile from his sketches strewn across the coffee table, his eyes soft and fond.

Tony sat in his mother's lap, a glass of milk to match theirs in the beginning. He always thought these were the best nights. The ones where all his family was in one room.

He looks around the empty living room and knows he won't be able to find that again.

 

 

From  _bruceybear_

Tony what the hell happened

To  _bruceybear_

we needed rules so we could color inside the line instead of outside of it. we needed to figure this shit out so it wouldn't be enforced on us and I tried

From  _bruceybear_

Tony how much have you had to drink tonight

To  _bruceybear_

Nothing

From  _bruceybear_

Tony are you okay?

To  _bruceybear_

no

From  _bruceybear_

I'm coming

To bruceybear

no no no no don't do that for me. don't come back for me.

From  _bruceybear_

I'll be there in 3 days. Tower?

To  _bruceybear_

yeah.

thanks.

 

 

From 54985-466-8653

Tony. I'm sorry.

* * *

 

 


	2. automated test cases

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sunlight from the open windows gleams off Vision on the unnatural way Tony has adjusted to over time. It took some time, after the relief and childish glee that it worked, that they were alive, wore off, but Tony adjusted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. It took 2 weeks. But hey, some kind of plot is beginning to appear!! So this isn't 100% a self indulgent character study of Tony and his relationships with other people. (That's another lie. We all know it's an incoherent study of Tony Stark mascaraing as something with plot and purpose.) 
> 
> Re the shiny new Steve Rogers/Tony Stark tag. I honestly didn't mean to go there until I hit 20K. But the story feels like we are leaning there and I would rather be safe than sorry.
> 
> ALSO CHAPTERS WILL BE SHORTER I AM NOT BUILT FOR THIS.

When a developer finished a piece of code, they should completed automated testing that can be run against their application to make sure it is working correctly or if there has been another change the way this piece is working.

A test case failing is the earliest warning that something is wrong.

* * *

 

From: _avengerslegateam_

_CC: _avengersprteam__

We completed Phase 1.  Security has dealt with the logistics of the situation, but it has been achieved.

PR team is beginning on Phase 2 as we speak.

  


Rhodey sweating through his first work out of the day greets Tony when he slinks into the compound. He's faithfully upgraded to the latest exoskeleton that had been left on his dresser, just like he does every Monday of the week these days. They have a silence communication happening here between them. JARVIS watches and takes notes, Tony turns those notes into changes, they fabricate a new exoskeleton to help Rhodey walk.

Tony has to take a deep breath in, remembering that Rhodey can't walk with out the exoskeleton. He needs to sit here. Needs to watch. JARVIS' notes are getting sparse, and Tony needs to see the issues up close and personal, so he can fix it. Rhodey deserves that, at the least.

(He deserves more. Deserves better than his best friend who took him into a fight and got him paralyzed, but Tony has never been able to get him to see it before, so he doesn't even try now.

Tony's selfish, and he can't lose another person.)

He pulls up a chair and straddles it, watching Rhodey as he makes his way through the usual exercises. Rhodey's legs buckle fewer times. The familiar soft whine of the calibrating motors isn't audible in this version.

Tony's fingers begin to beat on the top of the chair. They've only tested with regular movement, but his mind races when he contemplates how would the prosthetic work under more intense situations. Like sprinting or a quick change of direction? He would have to check the calibrations they currently have on the motors. Maybe upgrade the chips. See if he can build some predictive programming into the chips. Or make the exoskeleton less manual and more AI related.

He bites his lip at the thought of adding more automation to the exoskeleton. But would people even want that? For their legs? Tony nods to himself silently, because he would, he does in the suit. He just needs to run the numbers. Check with Legal and see where they can reach out to get some focus groups.

Or he could just ask Rhodey, who keeps talking about the support group he goes to. He takes the wheelchair. Says he needs to talk it out with someone who knows the emotions about it. Less focus on fixing the problem. Once, Rhodey could have asked Sam, but Tony tries not to think about that.

(Because once he could have turned to someone else and admitted he didn't know how to fix this. He could have turned to Fury and listened to the rant about fixing problems that didn't need fixing, Pepper's fond speeches about, Tony he just needs someone outside of all this, or St-)

He decides that if people don't like there being programming that leans pretty closely to AI level stuff, there has been that idea around the robot butlers that the A&D kids keep pitching around. It's on the idea wall in New York somewhere. Tony can get access to the designs on the server.

He'll need to tell FRIDAY. He needs schematics, a couple of context diagrams, white papers - and there is sudden movement from Rhodey's direction.

Tony tenses, ready to shove the chair down to get across the room to the bars when his gaze snaps upwards to catch a glimpse of Rhodey waving his hand in his face. There is a wicked grin across his lips as Rhodey lets go of the bars. Tony, half sitting half standing, lands in the chair with an audible thump. Rhodey's steps are smooth as he moves. There is no hesitation during his move from the bars to the couch beside Tony's borrowed chair.

Tony watches, stolen heart in his throat, the whole way. It only settles when Rhodey sinks into the couch, proud grin across his face.

"You do good work Mr. Stank."

Tony's mouth opens, closes, and then opens again. "How…" He can't get any more past the lump in his throat.

"Last night," Rhodey shrugs as he reaches for the stack of water bottles on the coffee table. "Vision kept a close eye on me while I tried. Then he deemed me good enough to move without the cane or the wheelchair."

Tony scans the room and doesn't see either of them nearby.  _Oh_. "I'm sorry I wasn't here."

Rhodey finishes taking a swig of water. His face is covered with sweat, but not as much as usual. Tony's fingers itch to grab the tablet and see the data from the exoskeleton. They can't be done. Not yet. Not if Rhodey is still sweating from the effort of simply walking across a room. "I wanted to show you when it was finished and not a work in progress." He grins. "Just like you and your toys."

There is a suit of armor in the lab, grey and gunmetal and big. It's got better firepower, turns on a goddamn dime, and can only be used by James Rhodes. It's almost done, but Tony's not sharing it until Rhodey asks. Until he wants it. He doesn't want to overstep. He's not sure if this is the end of War Machine or if his friend will hand it over to someone else.

He gets it. Gets it so much that his heart is fluttering out of control. He can't open his mouth to say it though. So he just nods, silent as he watches.

Rhodey rolls his shoulders before continuing, "You gotta stop punishing Vision for this you know. It's no one's fault."

Tony picks up the tablet, fingers smudging the screen as he types. "I have a lot of things to do Rhodey. Just because I don't spend five billion hours in the same room as my baby android, doesn't mean I blame him."

"Not your fault either Tones."

Tony snorts as FRIDAY pulls the data up and sketches it into a line graph to show pain levels, movement speed, and exoskeleton adjustments made prior and post movement. She quietly adds historical data in another tab. "Thanks for that sweet pea. I'm good." He circles the top 3 pain spikes, and FRIDAY displays the video clips for each for him in a half screen.

Rhodey takes longer strides in the video and the leg adjusts fine, however the movement causes a wince. Tony restarts and zooms in. The leg jerks into place in the last frame, not easing like it's supposed to.

"Got it boss," FRIDAY voices from the tablet speakers, and Tony knows there is another prototype being tested in a virtual diagnostic downstairs right now.

"What about the - " Tony starts.

"Even the times the exoskeleton's response time was outside 1 second worst case. Adjustments needs to be made for switching direction and compensation for quick movements."

Tony huffs. "You're getting too good at reading my mind Fry."

"Never boss."

He tosses the tablet on the couch. Rhodey is leaning forward, empty bottle absently moving. His eyes are dark, gaze heavy. "What?" Tony says, a sharp edge in his tone. He swallows back anything else, because Rhodey doesn't deserve this. He won't hurt him any more than he already has.

"So you're either sleeping around, or you sleep somewhere else," Rhodey observes.

Tony looks out the window at the second half of the statement. He can't lie to Rhodey. Can't do it.

"Or maybe not sleeping at all," Rhodey adds, wonder in his voice. "Buddy, you have to get some sleep."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead," Tony waves the commend away as he stands. "Now what about you? What are you feeling like for breakfast?"

Rhodey eyes him for a moment before reaching out. Tony grips his hand and hauls Rhodey up. "I'm cooking this time though. You burn water."

"My coffee tastes just fine."

"It's Starbucks level Tony.  _Starbucks_."

Tony fakes an overly dramatic swoon, hand to the forehead and all. "It's like you are trying to be unnecessarily cruel," he accuses after he straightens.

Rhodey slings a hand over his shoulder. "I got priority one on the give Tony shit list for being the best. And I gotta give anyone who is lower on that list a beat down."

Tony glances over at Rhodey, and their eyes meet. Rhodey quirks his lips. Tony leans his head on Rhodey's shoulder for a beat, then two, then three before pulling away. "Such an asshole."

Rhodey waves as he continues into the kitchen. "Your favorite asshole."

He stands there and watches as Rhodey disappears into the next room. Something in him crumbles and rebuilds in the moments it takes to catch his breath. Something ever so small but vital. He stands there, rumpled suit, aching feet, and wet face until Rhodey yells, "You coming Tony? I need an audience for all this awesome."

Tony goes. "Won't be as good as if we went to visit Julian and got some chiliaquiles. Breakfast nachos. Think of that deliciousness Rhodey!"

 

 

From _Pepper_

How is Rhodey doing?  Really doing?

From _Tony_

Good.  Better.  He is walking on his own.

From _Tony_

Making breakfast right now.  

From _Pepper_

He is going to kill you for sending me that video of him singing while making eggs.

From _Tony_

It was fry

From _Tony_

I don’t control my robots

From _Pepper_

He’s still going to blame you.  Loudly.

From _Tony_

As long as he is loud

From _Tony_

You should get back to your board meeting.  Thanks for checking in.  I’ll let Rhodey know.

 

 

A text comes in while Tony is cleaning up.

(Vision had drifted into the living room while Tony and Rhodey had ate breakfast. He had perched on one of the chairs and watched them for a moment. Clad in slacks, a button down and a vest, he cuts an impressive figure. But Tony sees someone else in his posture, his mannerism, and turns his back to those with a wild grin.

Rhodes's face doesn't give, but he parries with Tony like usual. There is a shift in the other room, and, later, Tony steals a glance after his heart settles to see Vision staring out at the silent training fields.)

Rhodey sees the text from his perch at the bar, coffee mug in hand. "It's Nat," he says, voice even.

Tony finishes the dishes before picking up the phone. He stares at the words lighting up the screen for a while before replying. The silence in the room is only broken by Rhodey taking long pulls of his coffee. He responds, fingers flying before going back to the dishes. He puts them all up, even when he hears the phone buzz again.

The silence in the room fills him to the point of bursting, too much silence, not enough thoughts in his head. The clink of the dishes helps. Moving helps more. Focusing one by one as the dishes get picked up and put away.

When his hands are empty and so is the stack, Tony picks up the phone again. He reads the text and replies. It buzzes back instantly. He responds a few more times, the vibrating sound ringing in his ears, louder with every texts. Then he stops and powers down the phone.

He looks up and both are watching him. "I've been thinking about a change in scenery," Tony says. Rhodey quirks an eyebrow. Vision is expressionless, as he is most days now. "How do you feel about going back to the Tower?"

Tony can't wait as Rhodey contemplates him and the question. He grabs the washcloth and begins scrubbing down the counter. There is a knick in the quartz from when Natasha slammed a knife to keep Bruce from stealing vegetables as she made salsa, eyes smiling enough to match Bruce's actual one on his face. He turns and flips the dish washer on, running his fingers across the ding in the door from when Thor bumped into it.

Once he has every surface, he takes the time to wipe down the fridge's handles. It's to get the handprints off the stainless steel, and he doesn't think about the fact he could be wiping away of Nat's moody periogies by the dozen that is either made in utter silence or quiet humming. He adjusts the magnets Clint uses to display the portraits of the Avengers he got as "fanmail".

"It's a bit too large here," Rhodey muses. "Feels like I am rattling around your old mansion." He takes another sip of coffee.

Tony scans the room for anything else. There is still a grocery list on a legal pad in Wanda's looping script that he has to pick up and wipe under. There are doodles in the margin that Tony skims over.

"Too many ghosts rattling around there," Tony agrees. He crosses the room to the glass table littered with papers, books, and other assorted junk. He shuffles but ultimately leaves the mail with Wilson's D.C. address at the top of the pile.

"Large buildings with no one to fill them are uncomfortable," Vision adds in a soft tone.

Tony can hear Rhodey's chair creak he turns. He scrubs a stain on the table left over from the "we will never allow Tony to cook again" incident from 3 months ago. It won't come out.

Jarvis used to know the answer to how to clean out stains when Tony made them. He would carefully explain every step as Toby watched as oil, fruit juice, scotch just disappeared from shirts or surfaces. Ana would distract him after, with stories about Hungary and the letters she receives from her cousins and nieces and nephews. Tony doesn't remember any of the lessons or stories. He aches where the reactor used to be as he scrubs a little harder. Effort, he does remember, was always something Jarvis emphasized.

"You're right Vision," Rhodey says. "So the Tower?"

"Yeah," Tony replies. His voice comes out weak and reedy. He clears his throat before continuing. "Pack up what you want. We all have rooms at the Tower. I can have movers come whenever you are ready."

Rhodey hands Tony his mug. He takes it and puts it in the sink, carefully washing the ceramic before leaving it on the drying rack. He goes back for the cloth he was using for drying when he catches Rhodey still watching him.

"What?" Tony barks. His shoulders feel like they are sound his ears, tense and aching.

Rhodey opens his mouth, narrows his eyes, and then asks, "You going to pack anything?"

Tony imagines the long walk to his room, and the open doors, the glimpse at the dust collecting, the windows open. All those things he needs to clean up, package away. "I have everything I need at the Tower."

Rhodey shifts, like he is about to do something and Tony takes a deep breath until he can feel his lungs pressing against his ribs, too full and ready to burst. "Okay Tones," Rhodey sighs instead. He slips off the chair and goes towards the stairs.

Tony watches him, noting the move of the cameras as FRIDAY follows him too. "Fry, inform me if he-" he starts.

"I will let you know if Colonel Rhodes needs your help boss," FRIDAY responds, patience clear in her tone. "I have also begun the process of opening the Tower apartments back up to the usual personnel."

Nodding, Tony turns back to the mug and wipes it dry in a few easy movements. He puts it up, carefully trying to keep the noise to a minimum. He turns back to see

"I can find other accommodations if necessary Mr. Stark," Vision says in JARVIS' old voice, a perfect replica of Jarvis' posture when he was deferring to Howard.

"No," Tony bites out. It's rushed, a bit too quick, but Vision tilts his head in a manner that is so very him that Tony can finally breathe. "No," he adds. "Vision come back to the Tower. It's your birthplace after all."

Vision watches him, and sometimes Tony can see the code behind his eyes. The way Vision is running through if/else statements, trying to find the correct action based on the parameters given to him. The databases he is scouring. The code that Tony originally built, high off sleep deprivation and other things.

And then he goes and says things like, "I'm not sure you are comfortable with me being in the same location as you after what happened to Colonel Rhodes." And Tony knows that isn't something he wrote. The empathy.

"No," Tony replies. "No. It's not that. If it was that…" Tony needs a drink or five. He scans the room for Scotch and sees none. "If I was worried you were a threat, you would never be around Rhodey."

Honesty, raw brutal honesty, always makes him want to drink. He goes back and opens the fridge and grabs a beer. It's Clint's brand. Tony only knows because it has a sticky note on it that screams "CLINT'S BEER. DO NOT TOUCH TONY." He's never been good at following directions, especially in the form of sticky notes.

He unscrews the lid and downs the whole thing before coming up for air. Vision is still staring at him when he looks back. "You're a reminder," Tony admits. He spreads his arms, indicating to the room at large. "Rhodey. Rhodey's been around for ages. And yes, the legs, those sting. But you're a reminder of everything."

He gets another beer and chugs it. Vision fills the silence with a faint, "I remind you of your mistakes? Ultron? The Accords?"

"No kiddo," Tony responds darkly. "The Accords. I'll fight for those until my dying breath. We fuck up. We all do. It's what makes us human. But we have to have consequences or we'll become inhuman. And Ultron," he pauses. There are so many things that could be said, should be said, but won't be. "That was an attempt at trying to be more inhuman than I should have. But there is a parallel universe where that program worked. Where we achieved it, and I got to retire and tinker with things like prosthetics and internet chips in your brain, and we never had these issues."

He sighs. "No. You're a reminder of the good times. The Avengers. The dreams we shared, the idea that we could save the planet instead of tearing it apart. The chance that we could right our wrongs."

"It's not you," he says. "It's me. I'm flawed. Hell, everyone knows that. I see the forest and not the trees sometimes, but you're the freaking Amazon to me and all I can see is what I wanted the Accords to be." For us.

Vision is staring at him, but something in his face has eased. Something like understanding in his eyes. "Stay with me buddy. I just got to get over this hurdle. I'll get there eventually. It's just going to take time."

"I'm sorry," Vision utters quietly.

"Not you Viz," Tony responds, as sincere as he gets. "All me."

The sunlight from the open windows gleams off Vision on the unnatural way Tony has adjusted to over time. It took some time, after the relief and childish glee that it worked, that they were alive, wore off, but Tony adjusted. He's good at iterative development, adjusting as the requirements change.

Vision smiles, a small, tiny thing. But it's real. Tony grins back.

 

  
From _Nat Something_

Everyone is out and okay.  Thought you would want to know.

From _Tony_

You shouldn't contact me again on this phone.  All Avenger digital channels are being monitored by the UN.

From _Nat Something_

You and I both know you could get around that if you wanted to.

From _Tony_

I don’t.  That was the whole point.  Or did you forget about accountability and wiping out the red in our ledgers?

From _Nat Something_

Just because you are angry about Rhodey doesn’t mean you should take it out on me.

From _Nat Something_

I heard he is walking.  

From _Tony_

FRIDAY has locked you out of all SI and Avengers servers.  

From _Nat Something_

Really Tony?

From _Tony_

You chose your side Widow.  Leave me to pick up the pieces of mine.

From _Nat Something_

You were going to try and stop them and were going to get hurt.  Steve was going to go too far to protect Barnes. I needed to do that so no one would do anything they would regret.

From _Nat Something_

I chose the middle.

From _Nat Something_

I just wanted everyone safe.

From _Nat Something_

I know that's what you want too.

From _Tony_

I wanted a lot of things

From _Tony_

I won’t come looking for the Cap squad.  But if we meet again, I can’t help you Nat.  You need to make sure they know that.  I can’t help

From _Nat Something_

I will.

From _Nat Something_

Thank you.

  
  
Tony is four.  

Tony is four, and he has all these ideas in his head, and he can’t sketch them out.  It’s like his brain and his hand can’t communicate, and it just makes him so mad.  When he tries to explain what he is doing, he doesn’t know all the words.  He pauses and when his Dad, Mom or even Jarvis try to help fill in the gaps, they are always wrong.  

So he sits in his corner of the Jarvis’ living room tonight while his Mom, Ana and Jarvis talk.  The glance back at him every few words until Jarvis brings out the dominoes, and it becomes a high stakes game of Muggins that turns even the mild tempered Jarvis vicious.

His father sketches, hums and mutters as he works.  His scotch glass marks the fine paper he uses for his blueprints.  Usually, Tony is sitting beside him, as close as he can to his lap or the table, depending on Dad’s mood that day, taking in the designs with wide eyed delight, and listening to the careful explanations or the loud mutters as he slashed through designs and adding notes in the margins.

Tony, by contrast tonight, has parts scattered all around him, half in and out of the box he had stored them in.  He has the copper board before him, running the acetone rag across the top.  The sheet he printed from Dad’s SI printer (“half the size of that old Xerox one!” Howard had boasted) sitting beside him.  With his kiddie scissors, he carefully cuts the designed circuit, and fits it on top of the board.  He places both on the towel pile beside him.  The iron that Ana had set out beside him is pressed to the paper.  The table bursts into laughter, and with a clatter of noise covers the hiss the iron makes as he presses.  

Howard looks up, briefly, at Tony and nods before turning back to his paper.  Tony removes the iron and quickly unplugs it.  He dunks the board in his water glass Mom had set aside for him before peeling back the paper.  The dark marks on the board aren’t as dark has he had expected, so he grabs the sharpie he had gathered from his father’s desk a few weeks previous and colors in the lines.  

It’s hard to get it precisely right, and he knows he has a funny look on his face, because when Mom glances over this time she laughs softly, gathering Ana and Jarvis’ attention and quick admiration.  

“Just like his father,” Maria whispers.  

“Less messy,” Jarvis counters.  Ana quietly smiles as she takes her next domino.

He picks up his fist sized board and heads outside.  There is a bottle of ferric chloride he has hidden in the shed near the Jarvis home, along with a  mason jar and set of kitchen tongs. He pulls the plastic goggles he gotten from his science kit on his 3rd birthday and straps them around his head before carefully pouring enough of the purid green liquid into the jar before dropping the board inside.  

Tony quickly puts the ferric chloride aside before anyone can catch sight of the bottle.  It’s dark outside, and when Ana looks the window, he waves brightly.  She smiles, waves back, before going back to the game.  

After a little while, Tony rushes back inside, goggles still on and grabs his glass of water and the bag of baking soda he had asked Ana to give him a day earlier.

“What are you up to Tony?” Mom asks.  Her red lips are wide in a teasing smile, and even Dad looks up at that comment.  

“An experiment,” Tony declares.  His new favorite codeword has his mother grinning.  She loves his experiments.  He comes and explains them all to her, and Dad watches a smile at the edge of his lips, and Tony always thinks, _he has to be proud of me.  If he actually smiles he is proud of me._

He lingers at the table before she urges him to “finish so I can see what you’re doing”.  Tony trots out, stolen towel under his arm as well.  He checks to make sure the towel isn’t one of Ana’s embroidered ones before placing down the glass and towel on the ground.  He grabs the tongs, using them to grab the board one handed while he uses his free hand to rinse the board off onto the towel.  The goop sloshes off from the board, which is clear of copper and now the sickly green color of his snot when he is ill, except for the complicated design on the front.   

He hides all the evidence with the baking soda poured into the ferric chloride.  It foams as he dumps the glass of water dumped into the ferric chloride and then carefully trots to the garage where the trash bags sit, waiting to be taken to the curb later that evening.  Tony unties the knot and slips the jar, used baggie and tongs in.  He trots back into the house, towel under his arm, glass and board clutched tightly in his hands.  Jarvis watches him as he places the glass carefully in the dishwasher and towel in the box.  

Afterwards, he perches back in his seat.  He grabs the rag from before and scrubs the design down until it gleams of copper instead of the black marker.  He studies his multi-colored lego prototype before nodding to himself.  The design matches.

He turns to his father, scotch refreshed and contemplating this scribbles with a notes with a smirk of satisfaction.  “Dad?”

The chatter at the table quiets.  The silence is only broken by the click of dominoes on the table.   _Click click._ Pause.   _Click click._  Pause.

“Yes?”  Howard says in his usual distracted manner.  

Tony contemplates the green board for a moment before turning his gaze back to his father.  He can see Mom watching the scene intently.  Her eyes are on both of them, dominoes abandoned completely, while Jarvis and Ana consulting over the unfinished game.  

“Can I use the drill in your lab?”  Tony asks.  

Dad leans down and scribbles another note.  “What do you need a drill for Tony?” he queries to his paper.

Tony straightens.  “I need to drill holes into my circuit board to see if it works.”

Even Ana and Jarvis turn to look at him.  He fidgets with with board.  Maria is watching him with a soft smile.  “I think you can use it for your miniaturized circuit board design.”

Dad had been, for a long time, moaning about the inability of his team to catch up to Intel’s 8008 integrated chip.  He had been over sketches upon sketches. He had ripped apart televisions, the first personalized computer, the Datapoint 2200, but nothing had been done.  

Dad puts his glass down.  “Tony, you’ve created a board with some markings on it.  That doesn’t mean it’s a working circuit board.”  He is smiling, but it’s not the one he wants and they coo at how he looks just like his father.  The one he uses in interviews, or at the adult parties when he carries Tony around.  Not the one he uses with Aunt Peggy or Uncle Daniel or Jarvis or Ana or even Mom.  

He only has the vaguest grasp of what a computer is.  It takes in inputs and returns answers.  Like he had typed 1+1 and it had returned 2.  He had typed the beginning to his favorite book one letter at a time, and the computer had displayed it on the screen.  His father had allowed him to play with the the Datapoint before he had systematically taken the computer apart. The circuit board, in 1973, had been longer than his arm.  He remembers staring at it and seeing the simple lines that connected the processor together, all spaced out in wide copper bands.  It had to be easy to make it smaller.  

So he had taken his legos and replicated the design one day.  He had slowly narrowed it, using smaller and smaller blocks until he had taken the size down from his arm to his fist.  

The thing about circuit boards is that they are _easy_.  They are just connectors.  Wires in flat copper lines that connect one thing to another, a battery to a light.  The ram and the microprocessor for a computer.

“Just try it,” Tony replies as he holds out his board.  “I just need the holes, the soldering for the wires to put the battery and the light in.”

Dad takes the board and inspects it, lips melting into a frown.  “Tony if this doesn’t work, I’m going to be very angry you bothered me with this.”

Mom hisses at him, quietly furious.  “ _Howard!_ ”

He turns back to her, “Tony knows he isn’t supposed to annoy me when I am working.”  Tony does know.  He also knows his board will work.

“Just try it Dad,” he urges.

His mother stands and whispers something in Dad’s ear.  Dad’s frown deepens.  “Okay, okay you harpy,” Dad bites out as he stands.  “I’ll do it.”

Tony follows as his dad leaves the cozy Jarvis home.  They do into the lab, gleaming metal everywhere, tools strung across every surface.  Dad makes quick work of drilling the holes, soldering the battery holder and five multicolored lights in place.  He hands it back to Tony to slide the quarter sized battery into place.

All five bulbs light up.  

“How did you come up with?” Dad says as he takes the board from Tony.  Tony shrugs as his father turns it over.  

“I just made it smaller.  I think you could put another circuit on the other side and use both sides.”

“What did you model it after?”

Tony turns to the Datapoint and points.  Dad follows his finger the disassembled computer.  “You know I’ve been looking in how to do this for a year?”

Tony shrugs.  “I just wanted to see if I could make it smaller.”

(Tony’s older now, had enough therapy, read enough to know that maybe his dad didn’t know how to be a father.  He remembers the brightest around his father's eyes and knows the books at the SI tells a story of up and down finances, and he has to wonder how he didn't know how much the company struggled when he was young.  One bad design after another.  A few bad investments.  A scandal or two.

He does remember the long nights.  The ones where he would sit outside his father’s office long past his bedtime and listen to him mutter and tinker and try and be his best self, falling asleep there until someone probably Jarvis would pick him up and tuck him into bed.

But to this day, Tony remember his father’s face with perfect clarity as he inspected his son’s microchip.  He thinks that is where it really started.   

Because that chip was a prototype.  It was used to create a machine created version instead of his PCB that was placed in the Stark Industries first personal computer, sleek and chrome and _of the future_ like Howard could always sell.  It bust into the market in time for Christmas 1974, making millions, destroying any small computing company and launching SI into the black for the most long lasting time with an actual consumer product and not just income from military sales.

He knows that look now.  Tony saw it enough time on faces that weren’t just his father’s.  Tiberius Stone.  Justin Hammer.  Obie.  It’s like Obie always said. He has the stamina of an Olympic swimmer when it came to software and hardware.  Howard could swim decently enough, but it was a struggle some days.

 _That’s the moment_ , he thinks - knows now.  That is the moment when he became a competitor to his own father.

Tony is four, and after that moment, his dad never looks at him exactly the same way again.)

 

To _spiderboy_

we’re moving into the tower.  this is your friendly fyi.  ffyi.

To _spiderboy_

bring your suit by. i need to run a few diagnostics on my precious

To _Mr Stark_

Yes!!!  How about after work on Friday?

To _spiderboy_

i’ll leave a window or something open for you

To _spiderboy_

how is the plan to fuel my alcoholism going?

To _Mr Star_ k

Um...consider this intern demo a wash

To _Mr Stark_

Please don’t look up the footage

To _spiderboy_

wooow.  is the leg fritzing out because of the power surge or the water?

To _spiderboy_

i’m impressed.

To _spiderboy_

so is Rhodey.

To _spiderboy_

we’re going to name this new safety protocol the Parker Rule

To _Mr Stark_

Please don’t

To _spiderboy_

don’t worry kid.  we add like five billion new rules every year.

To _spiderboy_

the one about no sex in the labs is totally my fault.  

To _spiderboy_

along with the pants protocol.  

To _spiderboy_

you don’t want to know

To _Mr Stark_

I really don’t.

To _Mr Stark_

You’ve lived an interesting life

To _spiderboy_

you know that’s the kid friendly version.

To _spiderboy_

the real story takes place back in 93

To _Mr Stark_

OMG PLEAse STOP

To _spiderboy_

don’t call me old

To _Mr Stark_

I swear on my soul or something.  Please never again.

To _spiderboy_

didn’t you know i already own that?

To _spiderboy_

that intern contract is pretty though

To _spiderboy_

and air tight

To _spiderboy_

:D

To _Mr Stark_

WHAT

To _Mr Stark_

i hate you

To _spiderboy_

first stage to loving me

 

Tony is sitting in the open area in the Tower, in diffidence to Rhodey and his request that he keep Tony in his eye line since Tony ( _accidentally!_ ) drank a DUMMY special smoothie and there had been an hour long puking session and too much yelling and a lot of water and maybe an IV.  He could leave any time he wanted, but the TV in the background was nice.  Rhodey’s willingness to put various forms of liquid sustenance in front of him was even better.  

The move into the Tower had been quiet, unassuming, and not picked up by the press really.  Tony has been a bit impressed with how he was being left alone.  After almost a month, he was losing the first place on Google to Finding Dory. Tony couldn’t be more relieved.  

He is stretched out across the couch, his feet in Rhodey’s lap as he skims the patent application for the exoskeleton.  “How about ‘the amazing legs’?”

“No Tony,” Rhodey absently responds with.  He grabs onto Tony’s feet and starts rubbing down Tony’s arches.

Tony squirms a little.  “What about ‘pirate legs’?”

“Still a no.”  He finds a stubborn knot on Tony’s heel and starts working on that.  Tony inadvertently lets out a low groan.  

“What about-?”  

Rhodey turns.  “You keep talking, and I’ll stop this.”  He pulls back his hands from Tony’s feet, and Tony whines, thrusting his sock clad foot in Rhodey’s face.  Rhodey just stares him down, and Tony can feel himself slumping on the couch.

“Okay, I’ll shut up,” he says to his tablet more than Rhodey.

Rhodey picks up where he left off, and when Tony glances over at him a few minutes later, there is still a big grin on his face.  “You suck,” Tony pouts.

“Not for you,” he returns, calm.

The laughter from Rhodey at Tony’s face covers the sounds of the elevator opening, but Rhodey’s sudden sober expression clues in Tony.  He pulls his feet back and sits up to see Bruce standing just outside the elevator, bags in hand.  His hair is bigger, curls looser.  He definitely got a tan in India, but he’s clad in his favorite loose linen pants and untucked button down. He has a wary expression on his face as he takes in the scene and the room.

Tony is struck by a reminder about how much the Tower never changed after Ultron.  He had been working on the compound, and it had been ready shortly after Sokovia, and the team had moved in mass to leave the bad memories behind.  Widow, he remembers, had been one of the first to make the move.

“Hi,” Bruce utters.  “I guess my room is the same.”

“Yeah,” Tony nods.  “Nothing’s been changed.  If you down, your floor will be opened for you by FRIDAY. We had it sealed off when you went on vacation. Oh say hi FRIDAY.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Dr. Banner.  I am Mr. Stark’s AI.  Please let me know if there is anything you need,” FRIDAY announces, scottish brogue showing a bit more than usual.

Bruce finds the nearest camera and tips his head in greeting.  “The pleasure is all mine,” he responds.  

He turns back to Tony and Rhodey.  Both watch him as he shifts his weight, “Mind if I put away my bags and take a shower before we talk Tony?”

Tony waves his hand.  “Yeah go do what you need to.  I’ll be here.  Pretending to be a starch instead of a Stark.”

Rhodey hits his foot.  “That is a terrible joke,” he says.

The elevator door shut, but both ignores it.  Tony pulls his feet away from Rhodey’s death grip and crosses them under him, tablet discarded on the armrest and a decorative pillow in his hands instead. “Okay it’s not the best,” Tony acknowledges, ignoring the Hulk sized issue in the room.  “But we both know it’s better than Mr. Stank, which is just childish and annoying.”  

Rhodey grins.  “If it’s annoying, then I am doing my job right.”  

He makes a grab for the pillow, and Tony moves it before his fingers can touch.  Rhodey makes another grab, and they end up wrestling over a decorative pillow with a whale on it for a good five minutes.  Vision strolls by as they fight, throwing different nicknames at each other, and murmurs something to FRIDAY.  

“One sec,” Tony tells Rhodey.  “The children are conspiring against us.  What are you saying to FRIDAY Viz?  I need to remind you that I helped create you, so you should be on my side and not Rhodey’s!”

Rhodey stills vying for the the pillow Tony has above his head.  “You better not lick the pillow again Tony.”

“Hush, this is important. I need to check on the kids.”

“Ugh, you won’t promise.  I want nothing to do with this any more.”

Vision’s magenta face looks amused in his carefully neutral expression.  “FRIDAY and I were taking bets on who would win.”

“So your kids,” Rhodey mutters, dropping his head on Tony’s chest.  The thud echoes down his false sternum.  

“Who did you bet for?” Tony asks, ignoring the memories rearing up at the pressure on his chest..  

“Colonel Rhodes of course,” Vision replies.  “He has the superior military training background that would easily allow him to win a skirmish like this.”

“Betrayed!” Tony bellows, wriggling under Rhodey in an attempt to buck him.  “By my own child.”

“I believe I take more after Dr. Banner,” Vision admits.

“This,” Tony says, “is quite literally one of the worst conversations I have ever been in.  And I have to deal with crazy models.”

“That was a personal choice,” FRIDAY reminds him.  “And thus a personal problem.”

“Betrayed by both my children!” Tony shouts.  

Rhodey is shaking into his chest, and Tony knows Bruce is a few levels above.  Vision is grinning at him with a smile he stole from Clint, and Tony feels something for longer than a second that isn’t an endless darkness in his soul.   _Happy,_ he thinks.   _I’m happy._

 

From: _thedeskoftheking@goverment.wk_

I believe you and I should have a conversation about the Sokovia Accords.  Your legal team has engaged the United Nations about the wording around the accords and are preparing for negotiations for more rigorous contacts.  Since this would impact myself as well, I would like to ascertain if our viewpoints align on this topic. 

  
Bruce finds him, hours later, tinkering in the lab.  Not the one they used to share, but the other one that Tony claimed as his own when he had moved back in a few days ago.  The bots whistle when he enters, but Tony ignores it.  He finishes soldering the circuit, movements delicate as he connects the microprocessor to the miniature ARC sphere.  It’s smaller than a ring now, and Tony can’t help but smile at the fact that he got it _this_ small without someone else’s help, old video or not.  

He puts the board aside and straightens, spine cracking as he over compensates for his hunched posture for too long.  He discards his goggles, and turns off the light he had on before tracking Bruce’s movements.  

The other man is pursuing footage from the fight on one of the monitors twenty feet away from Tony.   They both stay silent as Scott Lang burst onto the scene, larger than life on the tarmac of the German airport.  Spiderman rears back in the background, as Lang grabs onto Rhodey's leg.  There is a pause as Vision comes into view before Lang tosses Rhodey.  Spiderman scrambles to catch Rhodey, a truck goes flying, but they miss the plane before redirecting.  

The footage goes on for a while, switches angles or feeds.  It’s the compilation he had had FRIDAY put together, right after.  Tony still hasn’t watched it.

Vision covering Black Panther. Tony and Falcon going after each other.  Rhodey, Spidey, Vision and Panther going after Lang.  Wanda going after Rhodey.  Cap and Winter Solider booking it across the tarmac.  Hawkeye engaging Panther.  Vision taking down the tower.  Rhodey hitting Wanda with the amplified sonic vibration.  Bruce pauses on the footage of Cap and Winter Soldier  disappearing under the crumbling tower.  

The destruction, knowing how it ends, watching his teammates get batted around like they are nothing, makes some long forgotten anger bubble in Tony’s gut.  

(He had told all of his guys, quietly, as Cap and his band of misfits had approached, _non lethal force guys.  They are some of ours.  We just need to subdue and collar them._

Panther had been pissed about not being able to take out Winter Solider, but Tony had promised him fifteen minutes alone once they figured out what the hell was going on.  It wasn’t like he hadn’t tagged the suit in case he needed to shock some sense into the King.  Probably would have landed him in the RAFT, but whatever got everyone to shut up and sit down.

There had been a plan.  Get everyone on a plane.  Take the scenic route and shout this out with everyone in the room.  Figure out what was going on with the Winter Solider thing.  Fix any brainwashing that had happened to Cap.  Get everyone to know what line to toe so Tony could fix this disaster before Ross got his hands on anyone.

There had been a _plan._ )

“Tony you could have just talked to them,” Bruce states to the quiet room as he turns.  

Tony scoffs.  “Talked?  When the hell have we ever talked around here.  We save the world, have a few socializing events and then disperse.  Or that’s it seems to work for me.  I notice all the SHIELD kids buddying up together.”

He moves towards the wet bar, looking for the scotch and then redirecting once he finds it.  Now isn’t the time.  “But me?  I sit here and try and keep my R&D department from crashing while making the pretty little weapons you guys so nicely request.”

“That’s not how it worked and you know that,” Bruce returns, voice even.  He’s watching as Tony moves, like he’s eyeing a caged animal.  

“How would you know?” Tony bites out, bitterness bleeding into every word.  “You’ve been MIA for a few months.”  

Bruce’s shoulders go up, and he grabs ahold of a nearby chair.  “Tony that isn’t the problem at hand.”

“Isn’t it?” Tony says.  “You wanted out.  You were out.  I had you away from the SHIELDS of the world who wanted you in a cage if you weren’t near a superhero, by the way.  I had you safe, and you came back.”

He spreads his arms wide.  “Not your problem any more.  Why the hell do you care about us.  You _abandoned_ us.”

“Tony,” Bruce says softly.  His entire frame is hunches, and he’s clutching the chair like it’s the only thing hold him up.  “Not okay Tony.”

Tony winces at the old code.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t mean it that way, but after Ultron…” He waves his hand.  “With them.  It was like…”

“Everything you said mattered a little less.”  Bruce catches the thread of his thought.  His knuckles aren’t as white as they were a second ago.

“Yeah,” Tony said, exhausted to his bones.  He leans heavily on a counter, opposite side of the room.  The bags under his eyes hurt.  He looks away from Bruce.  “I murdered 2,375 people in Sokovia. 37% were under the age of 12.  They didn’t even get to torture their parents with their terrible teenage years.”.

He sighs.  “That is on me.  It will always be on me.  I just wanted to make sure no one else had to live with that.”

“Tony, we both made Ultron.  That is a burden I share too,” Bruce says softly.

Tony shakes his head.  Bruce is watching with a terrible heartbreak in his eyes.  This must be the first time he heard the numbers.  “I made you.  You didn't want to, and I manipulated you.”  He takes in a deep breath before continuing, “I still think about it.  What if we had done it right.  Waited a little longer.  Tested everything.  Stayed in the bounds of what we understood and knew.”

He tilts his head back, staring at the glass covering the ceiling.  Bruce is moving, Tony can see it in the reflection.  The silence rings in the room.

“You didn’t force me to do anything,” Bruce says finally.  “I am a grown man with issues backing away from bleeding edge scientific discoveries.  See my Mr Hyde for a prime example.”

Tony huffs a laugh while Bruce comes to a halt beside him.  “If you really want to be a martyr, then 1188 can be on your conscious.  I’ll take 1186,”

“Okay,” he hums.  “If that is what you want.”

Bruce makes a disapproving noise in his throat.  “I want a lot of things.  But right now, I want you to let me share the burden.  I’m here Tony.”

He lays a hand on Tony's left arm.  Tony stands there, head hung and takes comfort in the fact that Bruce is here.  That he is warm and alive and _right here_.

There are moments before all of this, where they were all almost friends.  Comrades in arms definitely.  Friendly but almost friends.  After, he deluded himself thinking it would all be the same eventually.  With some measures and a few more socially things, things could go back to really friendly.

But Bruce has been different.  He had been a friend.  

They had been the person they tried to stick spaghetti against when talking about idea.  They had had so many discussions on theoretical concepts like time travel, alternate seminarians.  The never ending rants about magic.  There had been discussion about the future they wanted to craft.  The lives they wanted to live.  Secrets, dreams, wishes poured out from their hearts.  

Bruce had been real, once.

“I see piles of bodies when I close my eyes these days.  I see all of you at the bottom, and I know it’s my fault,” he admits.  Bruce's hand tightens on his arm.  “I know it’s a nightmare.  It’s some stuff lingering from Wanda’s dark side stuff.  But I can’t shake it.”

“Did you ever talk to Wanda about it?”

Tony shakes his head.  “She barely has control of her powers.  I didn’t want her thinking she had messed up my head.”  Bruce loosens his grip just a hair.  

“Did you ever tell anyone else?” he queries.

Tony shakes his head again, this time a chuckle busts loose.  “I’ve had shitty dreams since I was 19.  How is this any different?”

“Tony,” Bruce breathes out.  

“I didn’t want someone blaming my work on the Accords on that,” Tony finally says.

He catches Bruce’s, looking for some accusation, some anger, something.  He catches sight of something worse - endless grief written in every line of his feature.  “I know you were working on those Accords longer than you would admit.  Politics never move fast.”

And Tony had.  There had been lobbyists to find, influence and fund.  Senators to get on his side to make changes that didn’t begin at _Powered individual_ and end with _automatic jail time_.  Then there had been ambassador, lobbyists in 193 countries and keeping the money funneled so it was so far away from his name that no one could ever trace it back to him.  It had all been in motion since Ultron, and Tony hadn’t wanted this one on his conscious again.

The other had been too busy to bother this with.  Cap with his hunt for the Winter Solider, the missions that had been funneled their way by Maria Hill about various “Avenger level concerns”.  Clint had his family and his golf and retirement, even if he popped by every once in a while to visit.  Wanda had had the never ending well of grief she was trying to train away with her powers, too young and too broken that made Tony ache.  

Natasha hadn’t wanted to admit it but Bruce leaving had been a wound to her as much as Tony.  Her steadily increasing mission time has been enough of a sign for even Tony to notice.  Thor had been gone, but he won’t have understood, and Sam was too new for Tony to even get beyond “hello”.  

No one had needed to know, Tony had told himself.  No one needed to worry.  He just needed to get these regulations downgraded, then bring them up. It was his role in the Avengers to deal with the political and PR BS.  He could do this, take care of this, and move on.  

Then Lagos had happened, and everything had escalated beyond what he could control

“Tony, even mind control couldn't stop you once you were on a mission.”

Bruce is smiling in the corner of his mouth.  It’s another the old joke, brought on by a discussion way too late at night about scenarios and code words and how they should handle from of the craziest scenarios.  After aliens invading Manhattan, anything is possible, right?  

Tony grins back.  It’s crazed, but he’s a bit on edge.  The scene of Vision taking Rhodey is playing in his head, and what ifs are ringing in his ears.  He starts laughing, shaking down to his toes.  He bends until his hands are on his thighs, and Bruce lets him go as he starts chuckling too.  

Bruce’s hand rests on his back as they shake and laugh for a good five minutes, until it almost turns into a chokes sob that Tony bites back last minute.  He pulls back when he can breathe normally and the ache in his stomach isn’t debilitating any more.  

“Why Ross though?” Bruce finally asks.  “You could have gone with anyone else.”

“Not really, “ Tony admits.  “Your arch nemesis has the president's ear and has played his cards right that the UN adores him for catering to their whims.  He had had his claws into the Accords from the beginning, and with it gaining power along side him, I thought that I had enough time to expose his doucheyer sides and get him removed and our own guy leading the charge.”  He pauses before pushing off the wall.  “I thought I had more time.”

He heads back to the table and picks up a StarkTablet.  Bruce follows as he continues to the screen, changing the display until it show a directory of files for his different files.

“That wasn’t the only plan,” Bruce spots.  

Tony hums.  “There were others.”

“And?”

“One is in play.”  Tony pulls up the directory called DREXLER  “I need some things working first.”

Bruce lets it go.  “What are you looking into these days?”

FRIDAY obligingly pulls up the prototypes in the directory. “I’m thinking we go truly science fiction and nanobots.  Cure cancer, allow guys to walk again, accelerated healing without all that nasty radiation.”

Bruce begins playing with the nanobot prototype nearest to him, pulling his glasses off the top of his head until they are perched on his nose as he squints.  “It needs to be something semi organic so it doesn't poison the patient or they body rejects it.”

They stay down there, spitting ideas back and forth as FRIDAY records them, until Vision drifts through the ceiling causing a bark of fright from Bruce.  “Colonel Rhodes has asked both of you to come upstairs for dinner.  He says, and quote, ‘I’m not fixing dinner to get stood up.  Tell Tony to drag his butt up down before I come down there and do it for him.”  His voice is a perfect mimicry of Rhodey’s.  Tony isn’t sure if it’s a recording or something of his own creation.

“Meet Vision,” Tony introduces.  “I think we’ve decided that you are his mother Brucey bear.”

Tony knows Bruce’s heard about Vision.  Everyone has, even in remote corners of the globe.  That’s what happens where there is a merchandising deal around a superhero group.  And a cartoon.  And other assorted things on the internet Tony pretends he doesn’t know about, but FRIDAY categorizes with a glee he definitely did not program into her.

“I believe all your ‘children’ consider you their mother,” Vision retorts mildly.  “Dr. Banner is my father in this scenario.”

Tony gaps.  “I’m a mother?  And I didn’t get anything for Mother’s Day?  For shame son of mine.  For shame!”

Vision inclines his head.  “I will take this into account for future scenarios.”  He turns back to Bruce.  “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Dr. Banner.  I have a few queries that hopefully you can resolve.”

The look of wonder on Bruce’s face stays with Tony the rest of the night, even when his smile doesn’t.

 

From 54985-466-8653

Tony.  What do you know about brainwashing?

  
Steve reaches his arm around Tony’s shoulder as they both stare out at the half finished Avengers complex.  The giant A is on the front.

“Tony,” Steve starts.  “I can’t -”

Tony bites back a grin.  “You kept bitching about the training room in the Tower, so I decided to build an entire training field.  You like it?”

“Like it?” Steve rears back.  His eyes are wide.  “I love it”

He turns back to the facility.  “We can train the younger ones to take our places here.  I know you have been tracking those kids around town.  We can become more co-hensive and be less afraid of learning our limits and hurting someone out here.”

“We’re going to make this a home.”

Tony’s cheeks hurt from smiling too much.  He puts a fist out, and Steve gently bumps it with his. “That was the plan Captain my Captain.”

Steve doesn’t protest the nickname for once.  

They stand out there for a while, watching the construction workers finish up for the day and take off until it’s just the two of them, leaning against Tony’s car, grinning like fools at the half built building.  

“You did good Tony,” Steve says softly.

Tony presses his arm against in a quiet thanks.  “Want to head back?” he offers.

“How about a burger instead?” Steve asks.

Tony lights up.  “Oooh it’s been forever since I have had a burger.  Don’t tell Pepper.  She’ll kick my ass five ways until Sunday and her heels _hurt_.  What about In and Out?”

“Stop it Fry,” he barks.  The simulation stops, the false sunlight dims, and it’s just the lab again,  Tony can see his hand outstretched, ready to reach out and shake him, turning him around, _something._

He sighs and sits down, head in his hands and brain jumbled.   _It’s okay Rhodey.  We can pull this off.  We can keep everyone safe_ , he remembers saying.  His voice was full of false cheer, back straight and grin firmly on his lips.  Rhodey had had a tightest in his face as he agreed, hand on Tony’s shoulder as they had stood together before Germany.  Before the airport.  Before-

“Boss,” FRIDAY cuts in.  “May I make a suggestion?”

“Go for it Fry,” Tony says to the floor, massaging his temples and hoping his brain just stops hurting for five minutes.

A screen lights up above him, and Tony has to take a moment before he can sit up without wincing.  There is a diagnostic of a brain rotating in a holographic format.  Below it, his name is written in blocky letters with a steady stream of data scrolling besides it.   _Cognitive ability, time elapses during session, time elapsed after session until subject shows full ability._ “What’s this Fry?  You monitoring me?”

“My prime directive is to provide any insight about your health, mental or physical when necessary,” she returns promptly.

“Brain scans are necessary now?” Tony snarks, expanding out the data.  He stills the steady stream and reads it slowly.  “Are you monitoring my brain when we launch the BARF protocol?”

“Yes boss.” The machines in the room hum a little more loudly, and Tony half hears a _yes sir_ in the place of her words. The fight drains out of him in the second it takes him to remember _FRIDAY not JARVIS._

Tony sighs.  “What have you found girl?”

“It looks like decreased mental capacity every time you stay under longer once you come out of the simulation. Your brain seems stuck in the experiment and had a hard time adjusting all cognitive senses to the real world.  The brain is calibrating but after increasingly longer periods.”  She provides four screens of footage of him sitting around various locations, fast forwarded with time stamps until he stands and leaves the rooms.  Each one gets progressively longer.  Sometimes five seconds, others hours.  

Tony restarts the one where he was in the only Jarvis residence.  He sits there, dazed as he stares around the dusty room.  It still hasn’t changed.  With a quick stretch of his fingers, his face is zoomed in.  There are tear tracks.  “Are we taking into consideration any variation that would be necessary with extreme emotions and recovery times.”

“I am taking generic timelines,” she replies.  

Tony waves the data away.  “Go through former data and video, take into account body language and average times for moods to disapparate.  Make sure to check for the alcohol variable.  You may need different data sets.  This is all normal.”

There is a pause.  “Yes boss.  Should I inform you of what results I find?”

Tony flicks open a new screen, rough prelim schematics he originally had for the next armor version after he had finished some test runs on the 46th.  “Only if the anomalies are outside the 28% range in a majority of cases.”

“Yes boss,” she repeats as she pulls up video from the last round of testing, notes from him during flights about things to fix.

He takes a moment, turns back to the counter.  There is a glass ready, and DUMMY rolls over, hooting softly with an ice tray.  With a quick pat on the arm, Tony takes the large ice block from the tray.  Tony puts the glass down to pour the scotch with two hands before putting the decanter back.  

With a tight grip, he takes a drink before holding his arm out.  His fingers shake slightly.  Tony fists his hand before looking back at all the screens.  “Okay Mark 47.  Let’s start.”

 

To _kittykat_

Looks like you’re in Vienna on the 18th.  I can meet you there. - Tony

To _Tony Stark_

I believe I have time before.  I will detour to New York first and come by the Avengers Compound to discuss this.  If you would not mind, we could travel to Austria together.

To _kittykat_

Come to the Avengers Tower.  

To _kittykat_

Please refrain from sharing that tidbit with your houseguests.  

To _Tony Stark_

Of course.

To _Tony Stark_

I’ll be arriving on the 16th.

To _kittykat_

See you then

  
“Boss,” FRIDAY calls.

Tony waves his hand without looking up.  “No now FRIDAY.  I gotta finish this.”

The suit still lays in pieces across the table.  He’s got his glasses on for the finer work, half eye safety, half using the program he has installed to help zoom in and do the finer work on the watch gauntlet.  There is a hologram of the suit lazily rotating across from him, different pieces of the suit, shifting and adapting as FRIDAY runs various stress tests on the MARK 48.

“Boss you’re really going to want to see this.”

Tony leans up as the TV turns on.  The screen is too bright against the lens of his glasses, so he pulls them off as the sound resounds in the workroom.  “Reports are saying the Captain America, Hawkeye, Scarlet Witch and Falcon are helping the rebels in the Kurdistan conflict.  Here is cell phone footage of Scarlet Witch helping in a refugee camp.”

Wanda’s eyes flicker red and then brown on the screen as she waves a ball into the air, entertaining a group of children as she adds a second to the group.  The footage is grainy, but Tony catches glimpse of a smile on her lips.  Clint’s there too - in the background - too blurry to be recognizable by anyone other than those who know him.  He’s there, watching over the scene, arms clasped in front of him.  

The video goes back to the reporter.  “There is has been footage of Falcon flying outside the camp, warding off Iranian troops from the air.”  The video cuts to Sam in the air from a distance and he swoops down, Red Wing ahead of him, as Iranian troops scatter without a shot fired.

Tony tightens his grip on the screw driver.  At that close of a range, the lightweight body armor would not have been enough to absorb the shock of an armor piercing round, and if Tony knew those guns the Iranians were holding, they were Hammer Industries guns that were usually loaded with armor piercing rounds.  “FRIDAY, alert Red Wing to advise Falcon to take a safer distance,” Tony voices, barely above a whisper.

FRIDAY is kind enough to say, “Yes Boss,” and not comment on it any further.  

Tony clears his throat and goes back at the gauntlet.  It seems small in his hands.  Too small.  “FRIDAY, reach out to the UN panel to see if they want us engaged.”

“Seeing as this is an unrecognized nation by the UN, I do believe this is one instance where the Avengers will be requested to not engage,” FRIDAY returns.  

“Gotta check in no matter what,” Tony replies as he disengages the gauntlet mode.   The plain watch is left, the Hello from SI, UI booting up in the tiny screen.  “We play nice with others now, remember?”   

He picks up the next piece, the new ARC reactor that he was thinking about installing in the suit under a layer of Starkium.  Vibranium had been a something he had thought about for a second, but Tony remembers the video from the Siberian facility FRIDAY had shown him after the bruises had turned green.  It glows vibrantly, and the glasses list output numbers in the corner of his vision.  It could power the suit even in the event of his death, but could cause a nuclear explosion with the right combination in case Tony needs that option.  He inspects the locking mechanism, twisting it left and right to make sure it wouldn’t engage.  Tony is pressing his thumb against the edge at 7 o’clock when the reporter busts out, “It looks like we have footage of Captain America himself in battle.  Be warned, this footage is graphic and should not be viewed by anyone under the age of 18.”

The Captain bounds into the fray, reckless.  He has grabbed a tank panel on his way in, and is using it when the bullets go flying.  Once he gets close enough, the rain of bullets slow, and he tosses the panel, throwing the soldiers on the left a good ten feet back. He lands his first punch on the guy nearest his right, twisting at the soldier who comes in on his left and upper cuts the next guy in front of him.  He kicks out to the left and takes out the ones who he ducked.  

Red Wing slides in and tazes a group of five who slump down.  This gives Captain America just enough space to step back and duck the next punch at his head.  Falcon drops into a nearby group with a flying kick.  They go at it for a while, and Tony is clutching the ARC reactor enough that it is biting into his hand.

Falcon gets an unlucky hit in the temple, and Cap roars even though there is no sound as Falcon goes down under two or three soldiers pulling at him.  But there are some explosions, and Black Widow slides into view, sleek and deadly as she takes out the nearest group with her bites.  

The Captain is moving as quickly as he can, tearing through the soldiers with little regard for their own health and safety, unlike the lectures he used to give about minimal public damage and injuries to others when they were going after targets.  After D.C. and Sokovia, they were trying to keep as low a profile as possible.  He and Widow get to Falcon about the same time, and they block their discovery from view of the camera.  Red Wing hovers nearby, vigilant about the sea of moaning or unconcious people around them.

Widow appears under Falcon’s arm.  He’s bleeding from his temple, but he’s waving off Cap.  His goggles are firmly on, but Tony knows that face.  He’s annoyed and pissed he gotten taken by surprise like he was.  

“Looks like the Falcon is alright,” the anchor says, relief clear in her voice as the view minimizes,  “It also looks like the Black Widow is on the scene.  One has to wonder if she will be sanctioned by the UN, since she signed the Sokovia Accords and is fighting in what is clearly a non UN mission.”

Tony watches the tiny picture cycling through the footage again, as Falcon goes down, as Black Widow slips in.  He stares at the bodies around the three of them, counting injuries and categorizing them.  

“It looks like social media is calling this quintet the Secret Avengers,” the anchor announces.  “One has to wonder what Tony Stark and his Mighty Avengers are thinking right now.”

Tony has to force himself to let go of the ARC reactor, the shape of the metal is indented onto his hand and stinging slightly as he relaxes the joints.  

“The UN panel head would like to speak with you,” FRIDAY says.

Tony rubs the bridge of his nose.  “Shit.  Okay.  Video call?”

“No boss.”

Tony rubs his right temple.  “Mute the TV and put him on.  It’s a him right?”

“Yes boss,” FRIDAY responds.  “The Swedish ambassador.”

“Mr. Stark?” a voice warbles in his earpiece.  

“Oh, hello Mr. Ambassador. How are you on this fine day?” Tony greets as he smiles into the call. He stands up and begins to pace.

“Yes I know this is unexpected.  I did not know either.”

“No sir, you know I have no contact with my former teammates.  You have access to all my communications if you would like to check.”

“I know this is a bad position, but think of it this way, Kurdistan is a country that is not affiliated with the United Nations, so their movements within the country is perfectly legal.”

He’s on his thirteenth loop of the room.

“I understand the Iranian ambassador is not happy, but his troops were attacking a refugee camp.  You and I both know he doesn’t have a leg to stand on.”

“Black Widow is currently helping out in this situation but she still stands with the Accords.”

“Yes Mr. Ambassador.”

Twenty seventh.

“Yes sir.”

“I can do that.”

“Do you want us to mobilize?”

“I understand sir.”

Thirty ninth.

“Perfectly.”

“Thank you for the time sir.”

Tony slumps into the nearest chair as soon as the Ambassador hangs up.  His face is in his hands, and there is a throbbing behind his templates that aches between heart beats.  Tony can feel the rushing of blood in his ears.  He takes a moment, two, three, four, before he straightens.  

“Fry, looks like we need to put out a statement.  Transcribe what I say and send it to legal for their blessing.”

“Yes boss,” she responds.

 

Draft reply to 54985-466-8653

Too much.

Draft reply to 54985-466-8653

Not enough

Draft reply to 54985-466-8653

I don’t want to help your friend

Draft reply to 54985-466-8653

Aunt Peg would shake me if she could.  Her ghost is probably bitching me out right now.

Draft reply to 54985-466-8653

You should have never asked me

Draft reply to 54985-466-8653

You should have told me years ago.  

Draft reply to 54985-466-8653

I hate you for asking me

Draft reply to 54985-466-8653

Hateyouhateyouhateyouhateyou

Draft reply to 54985-466-8653

Fuck off


	3. breakpoints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to die here, he thinks. “I’ve never liked the easy way.”
> 
> There is a faint smile on Yinsen’s face as he wipes the cold sweat from Tony’s face with a ragged handkerchief. “No. You don’t strike me as the easy type.”

_ The Avengers were created to protect the inhabitants of the Earth from any assailants on basic human rights.  With this as our mission statement, the Avengers recognizes the actions of the dubbed Secret Avengers as reckless.  Endangering citizens of the United Nations is something we do not, and never will be, behavior we condone.  Endangerment of citizens by utilizing our differing abilities if something inconceivable and against the very idea of what it means to be an Avenger.   _

_ We will add, as an organization, that we find the actions of Iran intolerable.  Attacking a refugee camp is unconscionable, and the Avengers hopes the UN sanctions Iran soon for their attack on unprotected people. _

_ The Maria Stark foundation, which is the parent foundation that funds the Avengers, already has funded workers and initiatives in Kurdistan to help any displaced and/or injured persons. _

_ Any further questions should be directed through the Avengers PR department.  Tony Stark will not be taking any interviews at this time.  _

-Avengers Press Release, May 30th, 2016

  
Spiderman barrels through the open window in the lab while Tony and Bruce are pouring over the nanotech prototype hologram.  He rolls to a stop in front of them on and stares, both of his lenses wide.  Bruce lets the pen in his hand drop onto the table with a dull thud.  Tony takes in the scene with a small smile on his lips.

“Spiderman has entered the building,” Friday announces, a little belatedly.  

Spidey lifts his right hand up in a tiny wave.  “Hiiiiiiii,” he drawls out.  

Tony stands from where he has been leaning over the table.  The lab is clean of clutter, orderly.  Bruce’s machines have migrated into his lab.  Tony still isn’t sure when that happened in the past couple of days.  Just that suddenly Bruce was in the lab with him all the time.

“I said drop by,” Tony says.  “Not barrel roll into my lab and freak out the guy who has a condition tied to his heart rate or the guy with an actual heart condition.”

“I thought you got that fixed,” Spidey replies curiously as he straightens.  The suit is still intact. Tony hums as he circles Spidey.  

The Iron Spider Suit has been a take on his suit armor.  Lightweight, but strong enough to take a hit.  It doesn’t compress down into a watch or even a cool backpack, but they had been on a time crunch.  It’s still better to hide than a mask in a backpack and a suit under a hoodie.  There are a few access ports in case they need to get into the suit if it’s on the fritz.  

“You aren’t having any issues with the cool down system?” Tony asks as he pokes Spidey in the side of the neck with a stylus.  

Spidey twitches away before the pen gets there.  “Nooo.  Don’t do that,” he yelps when Tony goes for his mid back this time.     
  
“That proximity alarms or the mysterious spidey sense you babbled about?”  Tony shoots back.

“Proximity alarm.  Spidey sense is only for life threatening danger.” The kid answers before he dodges a third stab with a jump to the ceiling.  “ _ Seriously _ ?”

“As an eighteen wheeler taking out McDreamy.”  He throws his hands up when all he gets back is a head tilt and the noise of the lenses adjusting. “Seriously?  Your aunt doesn’t watch Grey’s Anatomy?”

“You do?” Bruce counters.  He reaches out with a piece of paper, and Spidey, with a sigh of someone who has done this a number of times before, reaches out and touches it with a single finger.  The paper sticks.  The costume clad teenage waves it with no enthusiasm as Bruce watches, enraptured.  

Tony stills and observes how the suit handles the movement as the two interact.  "Pepper did."

Bruce's fingers twitch but he ignores the comment.   “Do you have fine hairs on your skin that allows you to stick like a spider?” Bruce queries as he grabs the tip of the paper and pulls.  It stays attached to the kid’s hand.  

Spidey perks up.  “Yeah actually.  It’s really fascinating under a microscope.  But any dead skin cells don’t have hairs on them, so I’m not sure if they connect at a sub-dermal layer or deeper.”  He curls up his finger and the paper drops lazily from the ceiling to the floor.  

Tony lobs his pen at Spidey’s back.  It arches while Spidey continues talking. “Mr. Stark build the suit so there are minuscule gaps between the plating that allows my natural spider-ness to still work.”

Spidey reaches out and grabs it behind him back. “Proximity.  And can you stop?” He snaps as he peers back at Tony, lenses small.

“We had a deal about the name thing,” Tony replies as he throws 3 more pens.  Spidey twists until he is facing Tony head on and snatches all 3 out of the air about a foot in front of his face.  

“Okay  _ Tony _ ,” he sighs out loudly as he then puts them stylus portion on top to his palm and dangles them down to Bruce. Tony picks up a tablet and thumbs through the data FRIDAY relays from the suit in the last five times.  The length of time it took for the proximity alarm to register the pens, the display on the HUD in the suit (Spidey had decided he wanted projected trajectory and a countdown to impact in the lower right hand side of the screen), and how long until the man inside the suit actually reacted.

Both times were within the initial ranges they had tested, briefly, back before Germany.  The system hadn’t slowed down yet.  He selects the tab about the version 2 of the suit schematics and double taps before putting the tablet back down.  

He catches Bruce grabbing the tip of one of the dangling pens and yanking. It gives easily this time.  “Wouldn’t that mean you would be susceptible to gases, liquid or gels that could get through the suit?”  

“We tested water and it didn’t get through, and the suit monitors what air it takes in.  I think it can go to recycled air if it needs to, but for only like half an hour.  The undersuit kind of deals with all of this,” Spidey replies before he crouches and drops to the floor. Tony’s breath catches for a second with the ease the kid moves.  It’s fluid and natural, like Black Panther, but he had been training for years.  

The second version of the suit’s hologram brightens into a projection instead of static display.  Tony starts the spinning with a flick of his wrist.  Spidey comes and hovers on the other side of the hologram.  “Kid’s got a body suit that expands to cover his body when he activates the suit.  It’s a mesh with an internal aluminum framework inside of it.  His spider hairs can get through them because they are organic.  Sweat can too.  On top of that, we have the metal plating of suit.”

Bruce nods as he ambles over.  “A better version of your suitcase suit.”

“A better version,” Tony agrees.

He stands a head taller than Spidey side by side.  “How?” He waves to encompass all of Spideman.  

Spidey shrugs again.  “Radioactive spider?” he offers.

“Seriously,” Tony bites out, staring directly at him through the hologram.  “Radioactive spider?”

“ _ Wellllll _ ,” Spidey says.  “Yes.”  Bruce and Tony look at each other for a moment, and Tony sees the exasperated,  _ we must protect him from himself _ look Bruce’s face tends to default to when he gets around Tony.  Something in Tony tightens at the thought.

“Do you want to run a diagnostic and do a tune up, or wait for another time?” Tony asks.  “I can’t tell if you were using the tower to hide from the paps or a visit.” 

“Visit,” Spidey replies as he perches on the stainless steel table beside Tony.  “And it looks like you have version 2 specs.  I  _ just  _ got used to version 1 Tony.”

“Continuous improvement young padawan,” Tony retorts as he focuses back on the suit.  He expands out the web system.  “That is how you get the best products on the market and keep a billion dollar company running.”

Spidey huff a laugh behind him.  “Says the man whose mobile development group presented the glitchiest tablet known to man in an internal demo yesterday.  I think they handed it to the interns because they can’t fix it.”

“Ugh,” Tony groans.  He breaks the web slinger apart until the parts are scattered in front of him.  His fingers dance over the different pieces.  “That department has been useless from day one.  I need to dissolve it and just throw those guys in mobile software.  They are not hardware geeks.”

“Let the interns take a run,” Spidey advises as he taps the liquid container for the web fluid. The specs write themselves beside the glowing schematic.  “A few of them have an idea they are running in their downtime.”

“Good idea?” Tony queries.  He watches as Spidey adjusts the fluid container size a little larger and then waves his hand to bring it all together again.  The image is too bulky.  

Tony breaks it apart again and pinches the release down a hair.  He then rearranges the the pipe from the fluid container to the nozzle releasing the fluid until it’s flatter.  FRIDAY notes to the right that it’ll still release the same amount of fluid in the same time span.  

Spidey reaches over him and rearranges the sensors used to trigger the release.  “Decent.  I would rather want to see what comes of it than kill the project.”  He waves the web slinger back together.  The animation pulls it all together easily before sliding it back onto the suit’s right wrist.  The left wrist automatically adjusts based on the schematic changes.  “Can we stress test this?”

“FRIDAY,” Tony says in lieu of an answer.

“Already on it boss, Spiderman.”

“Thanks FRIDAY,” Spidey cheers.  “You are the best.”

“I like him boss.”

Tony runs a hand through his hair.  It’s a bit longer than his usual cut these days.  Maybe it’s time to bring back the gel.  “Of course you do.”  He leans toward Spidey.  “Wait until she starts verbally abusing you about your life choices.”

Bruce is watching them, arms crossed.  His face is relaxed, and he’s leaning heavily on one of the tables.  There is a smile on his face that Tony catches, and it’s exasperated but inexplicably fond.  Like back when Thor would be explaining one of his large, majestic battles.  Or when Clint was trying to get Cap to believe every baby was microchipped at birth nowadays.  Tony tilts his head to the side. Bruce’s smile widens.

“It’s time for dinner,” FRIDAY announces.  “Should I inform Colonel Rhodes you are not attending?”

Tony closes up the program.  “We’re coming.  Let me know the results of the test.”  He turns to Spidey.  “You eat real food or are you on a bug only diet?”

Spidey’s shoulders slump.  “You’ve been holding that one in, haven’t you?”

Tony puts an arm around him.  “Oh yeah kid.  I’ve got about a million more from where that comes from.”

His head sinks, and Tony busts out laughing as he looks toward Bruce.  “You feel like helping me torturing the kid?”

“If it’s for science,” Bruce retorts.  Spidey slumps bodily this time.  

Tony tightens his grip on the kid for a second before releasing him.  “Come say hi to Rhodey, eat your weight in food and then come back down here and make sure everything is good.

“I have to start patrol at 7 at the latest,” Spidey says as he follows them up the stairs.

Tony pauses for a moment.  He remembers what it was like in the early days.  Just trying to keep everything under control.  One mission to the next. “We can do this tomorrow too.  Unless something is broken.”

Spidey leaps up on the ceiling again and starts moving on all fours.  Bruce follow the kid with his eyes.  “No, nope, nooooo.  It’s all good!  You’re never getting the suit back!” He books it upstairs.  

They watch him move swiftly, and the second he’s out of sight, FRIDAY has a display projected in front of him as he slips into a seat at the table.  Vision observes with a small smile at the counter where he is putting the finishing touches on the brownie dough, and Rhodey continues cooking, loudly narrating how he is going to kill Tony if he doesn’t get his ass up here  _ now _ .  

Rhodey turns, sauce in hand, and spots the blue and red costume.  With a shout, he nearly drops the pot, but Vision catches it out of the air.  Spidey waves sheepishly.  Rhodey, without greeting him, starts yelling obscenities through the floor to Tony.  

Bruce has a soft frown on his face.  The lines at his eyes are tight.  “SI isn’t,” Bruce loses steam to actually ask.  

Tony stills.

“No Dr. Banner,” FRIDAY assures swiftly. “I have begun some searches to find out who has been been submitting patents recently around arachnids research.”  

“Take them down girl?” Tony asks lightly.  

“Anything for you boss.”

Tony pats the wall.  “This is why you are my favorite daughter.”

“It’s not that hard when I am the only program who chose a female designation.”

Bruce chimes in.  “You’re my favorite of all of Tony’s daughters.”

“Thank you Dr. Banner.”

“Why do you take his compliment and not mine?” Tony shouts, faking outrage as he begins the trek upstairs.  The projection follows them, but is muted.  Spidey is waving fervently as he tells a story.  Vision is subconsciously leaning forwards as he listens. “Do you like him more?”

“Colonel Rhodes says dinner is ready and you  better be on your way.”

“You  _ do _ ,” Tony gasps.  “You like him more than me, your dear old dad.  You are the worst daughter.”

Bruce hides his smile behind his hand.  

“The colonel is yelling for you,” FRIDAY updates.  

“I’m going but I won’t forget this betrayal,” Tony retorts, shaking a fist at the ceiling

He and Bruce go up the stairs, leaning heavily on each other as they laugh over the video FRIDAY replays of Spidey saying hi to Rhodey.    

They eat  spaghetti and meatballs, and Spiderman tells stories from SI that has everyone eyeing Tony, but not actually saying anything to either of them. Tony drops stories from his college years, pulling out the most embarrassing but children appropriate ones that has Rhodey yelling corrections over him.  Vision works with FRIDAY to bring up evidence of the misdeeds, and Bruce softly distracts them with stories of his work in the middle east.  Tales of small children, sick mothers, helping birth babies.  His eyes are soft, and Spidey’s lenses adjust quietly, enough that Tony knows he’s recording all of this for later.

Tony clears the plates and cleans while the others filter into the living room. They are a soundtrack at his back, low words, then high pitched shouts from the youngest in the group and the murmur of the TV.  As Tony scrubs a dish, he half hears Natasha murmur from her usual place at the counter top.  Clint throwing out terrible ideas about TV shows they should watch.  

Steve leaning on the island, watching for the moment to step in, a mug of something warm in his hands.  Eyes sometimes turning back to Tony.  

He misses them, Tony knows. But he’s been missing them for longer than this Civil War of theirs.  He scrubs the plate and puts it on the drying rack.  

It’s just another ghost or 3 he can carry with him. 

  
From  _ Nat Something _

Pepper says you have kept Laura and the kids safe.  Thank you.

From  _ Tony _

I had nothing to do with that.  It’s standard protocol we set up after Ultron.

From  _ Nat Something _

Tony, just take the thanks.

  
Tony takes a moment to gather where he is.  He had gone under remembering the old hurt of missing Aunt Peggy.  It’s been a constant ache that has been with him for the last five years. 

The penthouse in New York is gleaming.  Aunt Peggy sits at the table in a loose blouse and slacks.  There’s more grey in her hair than brown, and the crows feet around her eyes are deep.  He looks early twenties.  “What brings you to town?” he asks, pouring them both a two fingers of whiskey.  

Peggy takes the glass with a familiar smile.  “I can’t tell you Tony,” she says before taking a sip.

“Saving the world stuff, huh?” Tony retorts as he sits at the table.  “You ever going to retire from that?”

“I’m a retired secretary,” Peggy responds, a gleam in her eyes.  “I couldn’t have an idea what you think I do.”

Tony rolls his eyes.  “Oh my god, you are the worst Aunt Peg,” he utters before taking a gulp.  “Absolute worst.”

She takes another sip, and they both stare out at Manhattan below them.  The nightlife beginning to pick up and the lights of cars as they move down the blocks.  There is a white smattering across the tops of some buildings, and some lit up trees lining the blocks.  

_ Oh,  _ Tony thinks and it feels like a punch to his gut.   _ Oh. _

“I was wondering if you wanted to come to mine for Christmas,” she queries.  Her tone is light and airy, like they are talking about the weather.

Tony finishes his whiskey.  “I thought we were working on creating distance from our two families now that Mom and Dad are dead.”

He watches Peggy this time, unlike his younger self, staring outside the window.  Her wrinkles deepen, making her look older, like the woman in the bed who always looked at him and said,  _ Howard?  What are you doing all the way over here?  I’m just injured, not dead.” _ whenever he tried to visit.  

“Tony,” she reaches out and touches his hand.  His younger self jerks away.  

“I’m trying to do as you asked Aunt Peg.  I’m trying really hard,” he says, staring out that damn window.  “Starks.  We bring all the attention in the room on us.  You need to keep the attention off your work and your family.”

Peggy grabs his wrist this time.  Her bony hands hold on him tight.  “Tony.  Look at me.”

He doesn’t turn until she shakes his arm and says, “ _ Tony _ ” in that voice that brings back memories of too many funerals, her composed form at his side.  No tears on her face and expression neutral.  Her voice always gave her away when she spoke with him.  

Her face is twisted into a wild grief when he turns.  “Tony.  I never meant it that way.”

The rings on her hand dig into the flesh of his arm.  He remembers Uncle Daniel being lowered into the ground, Peggy holding herself too straight as she clutched the United States flag in her arms.  Her children all around her.  Tony had stood across the sea of people and watched her.  

“I miss you,” he whispers. It feels ripped from him.  She can’t hear him since it isn’t the memory version of him that says it

“Dear heart,” she says.  “Dear heart, I love you more than the moon loves the sun.”

“I love you too Aunt Peg,” he echoes the childhood rhyme faintly.  “More than the sun loves the moon.”

“Come home to me this Christmas,” she urges again.  

“Okay,” his younger self gives.  “Okay.”

“You and me and take out,” she smiles.  “We’re going to spend all the time catching up.  We’ll even watch those horrid Captain America films and drink to get through them.”  

Tony shouts, “Pause it FRIDAY” as he covers his eyes and grasps for a chair. He can’t find one, so he slumps to the floor.  The open lab feels too small, like it is closing in on him and his throat  _ burns _ .  

“Breathe,” he murmurs, and his voice breaks, higher than it normally is.  “Breathe Tony.  You aren’t dying.”  The first sob bubbles up and breaks past his lips, but he gamely swallows the rest down.   _ No _ he thinks.  Not giving in to this, not  _ now. _  He sits there for minutes, ages, until his breathing is normal - in  _ one, two, three, four _ out  _ one, two, three, four  _ in again. 

He sits up, finally, and there is Peggy’s smile softly beaming down on him.  He reaches up to touch it, and his fingers slide through the image.  

“I’m sorry I skipped Christmas,” he whispers.  “I know we said we would do the next one, but I’m so sorry.”  Because the next one was delayed until the next year by year, until he finally came one Christmas after Afghanistan, and she couldn’t see Tony in his face when she opened the door, only Howard. 

Tony stares at her kind eyes, arm outstretched and fingers reaching but never touching for a long time that night.

 

From 54985-466-8653

I’m sorry I shouldn’t have asked that.  It’s just you are the person I go to for these types of things. 

Draft reply to 54985-466-8653

I used to be.  

Draft reply to 54985-466-8653

You don’t get that right any more.

“Okay so we’re talking miniaturized robots in your bloodstream, in your bone marrow, wherever, targeting abnormal cells,” Tony waves a carrot stick as emphasis for his point.  There is a sim running between him and Bruce in the kitchen.  They are both snacking under Vision’s watchful gaze as he works on the snack platter.  

They had (Tony had and Bruce had trailed behind, poking holes in Tony’s theories) come up from the lab searching for Rhodey to beg (Tony, not Bruce) for snacks.  Vision has informed them “Colonel Rhodes is meeting with the brass to see about the future of his career with them” and that he could handle snacks.

(“I used to cook for Wanda,” he had said, softly.  The metal planes of his face so reminiscent of his when Pepper has said, “Tony, I  _ can’t- _ ”.

“Sure,” Tony replied.  “Show me what you got kiddo.”

Bruce had put a hand on his shoulder as he steered them both to the table, pleased smile on his face.)

“So, these tiny robots needs to do their work with amazing programming by me,” Tony gestures at himself with the last piece of his carrot.  He reaches over to giant blue palm tree platter on the counter and poaches a celery stick.  He tosses another carrot to Bruce.  “But what do we have them run off of?”

Bruce catches the carrot, “Not a miniaturized ARC reactor.  They would run like the duracell rabbit.”

Tony rolls his eyes.  “That was such an insult Brucie.  The fact that you would compare me to that stupid rabbit -”

“You love it, just admit it.” Bruce bites back.

“Boss,” FRIDAY interrupts.  “King T’Challa of Wakanda is coming up the elevator.”

Vision begins plating a second platter with fruit.  He swiftly slices pieces of watermelon under Tony’s watchful eye as he gnaws on the celery stick.  Bruce, Tony can see out of the corner of his eye, is carefully following him.  When the room passes in silence for a minute, Bruce finally says, “Tony what is going on?”

“Playing the odds,” Tony replies softly as the elevator door opens.  

The king stands tall in dark jeans and a pull over.  The ring of the King gleams on his hand, and Tony doesn’t need FRIDAY to rundown the properties to know it’s natural Vibranium.  He looks tranquil, more at peace than the last time they met.  Tony inclines his head.  “Your majesty.”

T’Challa smiles in response.  “Mr. Stark.”

“You and I both know you hate Starks.  Just call me Tony and I won’t feel like you’re going to claw me to death to my face.  Maybe my back, but that’s the more preferable option of the two.”

There is an awkward silence for a moment before Bruce breezes past Tony.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, your majesty.  Your country always produces some of the most amazing medical journals.”  

T’Challa’s takes Bruce’s offered hand in a firm handshake.  “It’s my pleasure to meet you as well Dr. Banner.  Tony spoke highly of you before the fight in Germany.”

“I didn’t know Tony spoke about me,” Bruce returned, tone light.

Smiling softly, T’Challa replies, “Ah yes.  He spoke about how much he missed your companionship and how you would know the right things to say in this instance.  He told many tales of how you had handled situations with grace and humility.”

Bruce glances over his shoulder at Tony, who shrugs.  “You always think I am joking when I call you the light of my life.”  Bruce grimaces at the familiar phrase.  

“Hello Vision,” T’Challa says.  The being looks up from his artful arrangement of strawberry slices and returns the greeting. 

Tony waves to king.  “Let’s go have this discussion in the conference room.”  Both Vision and Bruce eye him at that, and Tony knows they will have FRIDAY tuning into the video feeds outside the room.  

T’Challa follows as the walk down the hallway to the frosted glass room.  The table is smaller than the one at the Avengers Compound, but it does fine for this meeting.  “I confess,” the man behind the Black Panther announces.  “I did not suspect you would have conference room in your home.”

“Business meetings happen everywhere,” Tony utters as he takes a seat.  “You gotta be prepared.”

The other man takes a seat across from Tony.  His face is open and the smile is as honest as Tony knows his is.  “What did you want to talk about today?” he asks finally.

Spreading his hands across the smooth glass of the table, T’Challa meets his eyes when he says, “I wanted to know what you were presenting to the UN about the accords in a few days.”

Tony picks a spot over T’Challa’s shoulder and begins to speak to it, tone idly cheerful.  “Did you know the accords were called the Stark Accords when they were initially being shopped around the United States.”

“I did not,” the other man intones.

Tony grins, a little bitter at the edges.  “I knew.  I was the first person the name was bragged to.  ‘We’ve got the iron bullet for you and your little suit’,” he repeats, the ugly tone from the call ringing around in his head.  “When I saw the popularity behind closed doors, I knew how this was going to go. There needed to be something to get that same level of positive reaction from the public, and I knew that was coming.  We’re not perfect.  We fuck up.  The second we do, public opinion will turn and we’ll be in jail before we can even issue an apology.”

He reaches for the decanter to his right at first before grabbing a water bottle instead.  “I knew we were screwed a long time ago T’Challa.  I was just trying to limit the number of people who would get hurt.”

“It’s too late for removing the accords,” T’Challa says finally.  “I have heard you are looking to make changes to the current version.”

Tony cracks open the bottle and takes a sip before replying.  “When I signed, I signed with the contingency that my lawyers were going to take a look and suggest changes.  The UN had to vote on any changes to amend the accords.”  Tony shrugs.  “My lawyers came back with round one of their findings.  I’m going to present them in the next session.”

T’Challa begins to drum his fingers on the table, and Tony has to resist the urge to flinch at the start of each succession of five fingers hitting the table.  

“We’re looking at the justice process behind any infractions, the protocols for engaging the Avengers, and how each of us sign them.  Maybe making them individualized sign ups since we all engage as superheroes on different scenarios.  Maybe have someone as main point of contact,” Tony voices to that spot behind T’Challa.

He can feel the other man observing him.  “People will never learn the true cost of their actions if you keep taking on all the consequences of their actions.”

Tony turns his gaze to the table. “I’m the one who keeps fucking up, so it’s more for me than them.”. He laughs.  It’s sharp and short.  “Stark Accords.”

Silence spreads between them.  Loud and deafening.“Do I need to be concerned?” the king says, finally getting to the real reason behind everything.  

“About what?” Tony questions tranquilly.  “I don’t know of a single reason why I should be apologizing to you.”

T’Challa’s eyes narrow.  “You know.”

“I know,” Tony agrees. 

He puts the water bottle down and skims his fingers on the mat between him and T’Challa.  A hologram bursts to life between them that displays different pictures with a single slide of Tony’s finger on the heavy plastic.  There is first a picture of T’Challa in Siberia, watching him, Steve and the Winter Soldier behind his Black Panther mask.  Next is one of Panther getting Zemo in his plane, handcuffs gleaming on his wrists.  Another is helping a limping Steve and company onto his place.  The fourth is Zemo being dropped off to Everett Ross’ shocked face. Sharon Carter hovers in a corner. “That’s my favorite picture,” Tony adds before going to the fifth image.

It’s a satellite image of Team Cap sitting in the lush palace gardens.  Wanda is manipulating a plant in the first of this series of images.  It blossoms in the second.  Clint is watching her both times, eyes sad. Scott Lang’s face is lit up as he watches her work.  Sam Wilson is wandering in the edges of the pictures.  His shoulders are straight, tense, a solider back at war.  Natasha is close at his side, back turned both times.

It’s the third picture that shows Steve wandering around with a bewildered looking Winter Soldier who is missing an arm.  The fourth picture shows the Winter Soldier picking a flower, and every inch of Steve’s face overjoyed.  Tony leaves that one up.  

T’Challa’s face gives nothing when he gazes through the hologram.  “Are you going to report me?”

“I’ve known this entire time,” Tony returns.  “Why would I report you to the UN now?”

“Men do many things that make no sense when they are backed into a corner,” T’Challa replies.  

Tony picks up his water bottle again.  “I’m not the one in a corner.  I felt like I should be honest and open with you before I show you my entire hand.”  FRIDAY minimized Steve’s face and brings up the new version of the Accords for T’Challa’s perusal.  “Here’s every change my lawyers proposed.  Tell me what you think.  FRIDAY download it to his smart phone right now.”

“Yes boss,” she murmurs through the speakers in the ceiling. 

T’Challa is studying him, and the urge to stand has Tony out of his seat in a moment.  “I don’t apologize for taking them in and helping with the escape,” the king says.  

“I’m not asking you to,” Tony retorts.  “I’m just putting my cards on the table.”

He grips his water bottle until it creaks and begins to walk to the door.  “They miss you,” he hears offered behind him.  “All of them except Lang.  They tell stories about the compound from time to time.”  There is a pause.  “James is apologetic.  He knows what he did and wants to take responsibility.”

Tony leaves his hand on the door handle when he speak.  He doesn’t turn around.  He simply says “okay” before leaving the room.

“Okay,” he whispers when the door closes and he makes his way down the hall.

“Okay,” he mutters when he comes into the kitchen to the waiting Vision, Rhodey, and Bruce.

_Okay_.

From _spiderboy_

Do you think

From _spiderboy_

No stupid question.  Ignore me

From _Tony_

Ask kid

From _Tony_

Don’t make me put on the suit and come track you down.

From _spiderboy_

You think I could trust Bruce, Rhodes and Vision with my identity?

From _Tony_

I can’t tell you who or who not to trust.  I’m not so great at picking the right people.  

From _Tony_

I have about five billion trust issues for various reasons.

From _Tony_

BUT. They are some of the best people, beings, whatever, in the world.

From _Tony_

I trust them with my life.

From _Tony_

I trust you with my life.  I trust you with their lives.

From _Tony_

I’m not helpful for this.

From _spiderboy_

No.  That’s exactly what I needed to hear.

  
Tony ends up having to spend a week in Vienna to discuss the changes with the UN.  The ambassadors are interested in the changes, and in the wake of the news breaking that Zemo was the one to cause the attack, not the Winter Soldier, they are more than willing to listen to him.  

T’Challa is at his side for most of it, an advocate for all the options, a  steady voice when his falters - the ally he gratefully welcomes.  

It takes a week, but there are amendments and the Accords version 2.0 are already being worked on by a select group of ambassadors and Avenger lawyers.

“Thank you,” Tony says to T’Challa, at the end of the final day.  “I didn’t think you were going to help.”

“They were worthy changes,” T’Challa admits.  “I wanted many of the same things.”

They shake hands, and Tony nods before walking away.  “You should come visit Wakanda,” T’Challa calls.  Tony stops and turns.  “I believe you would love my country with the same fierceness I do.”

T’Challa’s face is open and honest, but Starks have been banned from entering Wakanda since 1943, and Tony remembers the conversations he had back when the palladium poison had blackened his veins. He remembers the denial and anger.  He remembers the cool anger of T’Challa’s father when they met last, right after Lagos.  

_ (“ _ Ah, a Stark backs the Avengers _.” _ He had said coolly, and Tony had had to hide his flinch over the video call.  

“Is there anything we can do for the families, for your country?”  Tony had pressed.

The chill in the face of the king had burned.  “We want nothing from the Avengers, let alone the Starks.  Keep your blood money Iron Man.”)

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Tony asks.  

T’Challa smiles.  “You were honest with me, and I knew it cost you much to give me that much knowledge.  I want to be honest with you.”

Tony hadn’t been sure T’Challa had known what he had done.  Not all of it.  He nods shortly.  “I’ll think about it.”

“I consider you a friend,” T’Challa says softly.  “I do not have many people in my life who see me as an equal.  I believe we could be great friends.”

Tony is startled at the flash of happiness that burns through him at the offer.  “I would like that.  I have few friends these days.”

“I think you have more than you realize,” T’Challa responds.  “Let me know when you plan to visit.  I have more than a few things I would like to show you.”

Tony smiles slightly.  “Okay your pantherness.  I’ll let you know when to set up our playdate.”   

 

From  _ Baby Carter _

Ross is not happy about your amendments

From  _ Tony _

Which one?

From  _ Baby Carter _

Both

From  _ Tony _

Keep me in the loop if they start doing something shady

From  _ Baby Carter _

Of course

From  _ Tony  _

Aunt Peg would have my head if something happened to you

From  _ Baby Carter _

Same here.

From  _ Baby Carter _

Can we just not drive her to angrily haunt us and yell about our life choices?

From  _ Tony _

Too late for me kiddo.  Save yourself.

From  _ Baby Carter _

Never.

From  _ Tony _

Such a carter thing to say

From  _ Baby Carter _

Pot. Kettle.

From  _ Tony _

Stay safe

From  _ Baby Carter _

Always.  You too.

“Welcome back boss,” FRIDAY greets as the armor disperses.  Tony runs a hand over his face, through his hair before returning the greeting.  “Should I inform the others of your arrival?”

“No,” Tony says as he takes off the tie and suit jacket, throwing them over the table littered with tools.  “Give me five minutes to myself before those mother hens descend.”  He drops into a chair before the monitors.  FRIDAY pulls up CNN, Fox, and a few others.  They are all chatting about the UN meeting, but there is a sixth monitor that shows a live satellite feed from Wakanda.  

Wanda is in the middle of the garden again.  She’s on her knees, digging in the dirt with Lang at her side.  He is chattering and waving his hands while he tells a story.  The view is pixelated, but it looks like she is planting a lily in the garden by hand.  Sam and Steve run by, and the view adjusts to follow them.  They are talking, half smiles through the sweat dripping down their faces as they circle the mansion again.  Steve’s moving slow, and Sam looks annoyed with it.  He hit Steve in the arm, and Steve takes off.

Clint’s on the roof, observing it all.  He grips something tightly in his hand, and Tony watches them all for a few minutes, alive and moving.  Clint looks up, shading his eyes in the sun, before Tony shuts off the feed.

He takes a deep breath in and thinks,  _ we’re all still alive.  We can all still fix this _ .  

Then he thinks, _Mom._ _Dad_ and a chasm of grief reopens in him, crashing over him and trying to pull him back into it’s whirlpool.  The watch beeps.

“Boss?” FRIDAY asks.

_ Home _ , he thinks, and doesn’t see the mansion with Ana and Jarvis waving at him.  Mom sitting in a chair with a glass of lemonade in hand, Dad pouring over papers in his study.  He sees his team mates, Pepper in a corner.  There are more, if he looks, but he doesn’t look this time.  

They are enough.  They deserve to be enough.

Tony sighs, thoughts disappearing.  “Tell everyone I’m home,” he replies.  

“Yes boss.”

He stays in his seat, watches the news and people give differing opinions about his motives, his face, his everything until Peter comes bounding down the stairs, chattering loudly with Bruce and Rhodey.  Vision fades into view.

“Welcome back Tony,” Peter cheers.  

Tony grins.  “It’s good to be home.”

Rhodey’s smile is soft, knowing.  “Yeah buddy.  It is.”

  
From  _spiderboy_

We’ve got the prototype workinG!!!!!!

From _Tony_

100%?

From _Tony_

Holy shit that looks 100%

From _spiderboy_

We need so much more testing

From _spiderboy_

BUT 100%!!!!!!!!!!!!

From _Tony_

When are you presenting?

From _spiderboy_

nonono, you don’t have to.

From _Tony_

Fry says Friday.  Ha.  

From _Tony_

See you there kiddo

From _spiderboy_

You really don’t have to

From _Tony_

Kid you’ve worked on improving the SI prototype for the past 2 months.  I’ve seen your crazy hours, including those weekend ones you think SI doesn’t know about,

From _Tony_

I’m coming.

From _spiderboy_

Thank you Tony

From _Tony_

All you kid.  That was all you and your big brain.  And your genius partner in crime.

  
Steve is at the kitchen table when he hazily walks in.  He has the TV on at a low volume, some animated kids thing, and a sketchpad in hand.  Tony stills for a moment and looks around for a clock.  “Why am I not the only person up this late at night?”

Steve jumps, and Tony feels faintly guilty for startling the other man.  “Sorry,” Tony says.  “Didn’t mean to…” He waves at Steve to finish the sentence.

“So’k,” Steve replies.  “Can’t sleep, so,” he shrugs.  

Tony thinks longly of the coffee he came up for, before settling down the couch beside the captain.  “Too loud in your own head?” Tony offers.  Steve puts down his pad and pencil before nodding.  “Yeah, I usually blast some AC/DC until I can’t hear it any more.  Bruce swims when it all gets too much.  I think it’s the lack of oxygen for that scenario.  Natasha and Clint go at each other until they are sweaty piles of mush.  You sketch.”

There is something in the other man’s eyes.  “You’re always watching out for us, aren’t you?”

Tony shrugs.  “Nah, JARVIS makes the observations, and I just help him piece together correlations in the data.  He’s made all of you, since you guys are guests here once a month, part of his mother hen protocol.  That’s like 20% my fault.  Rhodey gets the rest of the fault, because he influenced J when he was just a baby AI.”

Steve smiles softly.  “I think I can still say you’re watching out for us.”  

Tony rolls his eyes.  “Okay, I’m trying to make sure the kids don’t kill each other or go crazy in case alien armies decide to descend down from the skies.”

Humming Steve picks up his sketchbook again.  Tony leans closer to peer over his shoulder.  There is a rough pencil sketch of a campfire, men around it telling stories from the look on their faces, and the lines of their arms.  There is a woman in the middle of it, punching one of the men in the arm.  It’s Peggy, Tony realizes, and the familiar shading of the faces informs him that it’s the Howling Commandos.  His father is there too, Howard looks younger than he ever saw him growing up.  His arms are wide, eyes bright.  

Tony aches as Steve goes back to shading Peggy’s hair.

“Have you gone to see her?” Tony asks, when Steve nearly finishes the sketch.  He’s barely an arm length’s away from Steve, who noticed the closeness a while back but continued drawing.  

“Yeah,” Steve sighs.  “She remembers me sometimes.  Others she doesn’t, and those are the hardest moments.  When she sees me for her first time again.”

Tony thinks of, _ Howard, you stupid idiot.  What are you doing here?   _ Or  _ Howard, you did well with Maria.  I’m proud of you.  _ Or _ I know you love that boy of yours Howard.  You need to take a step back from saving the world and save him. _

“Yeah,” Tony breathes.  “I know what you mean.”

Steve tilts his head and looks askew to him.  “Not exactly what you’re talking about,” Tony adds.  “But when people don’t see you or know you.  It’s hard.”

He shifts back, getting ready to stand.  “Sorry to crash the insomnia party Steve.  But I should get back to the grind.”

“It’s nice,” Steve utters as he pushes himself off the couch.  “To have someone to talk to and not just think about everything.”

Tony quirks his lips.  “Have JARVIS get me if you ever want to talk,” he says.  

Steve’s face softens into a small smile.  “Okay.”

“Okay,” Tony repeats before heading back to the lab.  

BARF automatically shuts down at the end of the memory, and Tony sits in his dimly lit lab and repeats, “Okay.”

 

From  _ kittykat _

It’s getting worse.  They’re planning to put him under.

From  _ Tony _

How is he handling it

From  _ kittykat _

Not well.  But Wilson is handling him.

From  _ Tony _

Okay.  Thanks for the update.

From  _ kittykat _

Always my friend

  
Pepper looks up as Tony slips into the empty seat beside her.  Her face slackens with shock before hissing, “Tony what are you doing here?”  There is no heat behind her words.

“I heard a rumor there was some interesting work with the interns and the StarkTablet.”  Tony smiles at the sea of curious faces. “ Also I should probably be here to encourage the masses, make the smarter by just existing near them.  Give them a story for when the call home and talk to mom and dad.”

Pepper laughs softly.  “You and I both know that isn’t it.”

Tony hums as a stuttering college kid begins his presentation again about the project estimation system he is building for the effort planning group.  He explains the macros in the excel sheet in a bit too much detail, but the contingent from that department has wide smiles.  Those guys always lived in excel.  

“You never took away my protocols from FRIDAY,” she murmurs as the kid takes a seat.

Tony tilts his head back to her.  “You always need someone to make sure you’re not becoming a supervillian.”

Pepper straightens, plastic smile on as Peter takes the stage.  He carries a tablet with a wide grin, but nothing else. Peter catches Tony’s eye and his face brightens to an impossible degree.  He makes a gesture from training, a slight roll of his right shoulder, and Tony glimpses the woman behind Peter.  She’s an intern, Tony knows the moment he sees her purple badge.  The metal of her prosthetic leg gleams against the light fabric of her sundress as she takes a seat.  It’s not the usual thin rod though.  It’s a slim metal thing made to look like an actual leg.  

It actually looks like one of his boots but if the metal was skintight.  It’s even painted red and gold.  Tony’s lips quirk.  He know Peter catches it.

“So, I’ve been working with Dr. Perez in robotics.  I got interested in the prosthetic unit when I met a mentor had almost lost the use of his legs in an accident,” Peter starts, gripping the tablet tightly.

Pepper’s hand brushes his, and Tony is too used to playing another person in public to jump.  His watch beeps softly to register the drastic change in his heart rate.  

“I met Rihan,” Peter’s companion waves.  “She was working on the prosthetic group from the get go, and we decided to team up on a fully functional leg prosthetic that was similar to Iron Man’s boots.”

Rihan, dark skinned with bright eyes steps forward.  “I lost my leg two years ago in Kurdistan.  I have a prosthetic, but if we can make metal armor, why can’t we make a leg that could match my other?  So we created this beauty.”

She takes a few steps forward, and there is no whine, no noise.  It simply moves along with her, like it’s her real leg just encase in one of his boots.  She does some quick running in place, and the back opens minutely to cool down the leg. 

“We’re still working through some issues,” she says.  “There are some energy issues at this point, and we need to figure out charging the new source.  But this model is molded to my body type.  It’s not cheap, so Peter and I are looking into a way to be able to span a recipient's leg and 3D print the exoskeleton to cheapen the initial cost of the unit.”

Peter grins, “We’re also working on an exercise routine to put the system through the paces.  If anyone has any tips, we would love to hear them.”

There is chatter as the interns point and stare.  Tony lightly pulls the tablet from Pepper’s grip and open her email.  He taps out a draft before handing it back to her. She scans it quickly before sending the notes to the ARC reactor unit team.  

“Maria Foundation?” she whispers.  Tony nods as he stands.  

He crosses the room to where Dr, Perez is watching, eyes bright.  “You did good work,” Tony states beside him.  They watch as the two interns field questions for the last two minutes of their presentation.  Rihan is enthusiastically demonstrating bending her false leg.  

“It was all them,” Perez returns softly.  “Also that leg from Mark II that you left on Peter’s desk a month ago.  I’ve never heard noise so high pitched come out of that girl.” 

“She deserves some good things in her life,” Tony retorts.  “Him too.”

Perez turns to him as the kids make it down the stage. Peter hovers behind Rihan in case she needs help.  She doesn’t.  “You’re the good thing Tony.  You’ve been a good thing to all of us.”

Tony smiles slightly before clapping.  “That was amazing you two.”  Rihan blushes and Peter cocks his head to the side, a familiar quirk of his lips there.  “I have 2 things to tell you.  The ARC team is going to give you a prototype to play with.  And the Maria Stark Foundation will be funding any testing you want to do with.”

Rihan’s mouth drops.  “Oh, thank you Mr. Stark,” she stammers.  “I know a few people who would love to try out the prototype.”  Tony knows she does.  

She rushes him, hands around his waist before he can think.  He’s stiff at first, and the watch beeps.  He takes in a few breathes before he relaxes and pats her arm hesitantly.  “You’re welcome.”  Rihan pulls back abruptly, blush turning into a sunburnt shade.  “Let me know if you need anything else,” he says to both of them.  

He waves and walks away.  Pepper’s tracking him and not the intern presenting.  He tilts his head in her direction before he slips out the auditorium.  

Tony takes the escalators down, staring down at this phone where streams of data from the last test of the nanobots display.  His mind is curiously blank when he looks at the data, like they are foreign and don’t make any sense.

His feet take him to the curb, and he remembers he had hijacked Happy into giving him a ride while Pepper was safe and sound in the office.  Tony looks for a taxi, unwilling to call the suit to him in the middle of New York.  But his Mercedes gleams from it’s place at the curb, Rhodey leaning against it in careful study of nonchalance.  Bruce and Vision are beside him.  

Tony heads their way.  “How did our boy do?” Rhodey asks when Tony gets close.  Bruce is watching him closely.  Vision is scanning the building, probably downloading the footage to review himself.

“Really well.  The leg works,” Tony says.  “It was a simple presentation, but they did it well.”

“Sounds like this will get you that money to fund your drinking problem you keep threatening him with,” Rhodey replies.  

Tony walks around the car and gets in the passenger seat.  Rhodey takes driver, while Bruce and Vision split the back.  “I’m having further testing go through the Maria Stark foundation.  I think Pepper said something around the next few years needing testing before we start selling anything.”

“Pepper huh,” Bruce notes.  

Rhodey turns on the engine.  “I feel like celebrating.  Where do we want to do lunch?”

“Mortinos,” Tony says immediately. “I want some pizza.”

Bruce is grinning in the rear view mirror, when Tony looks.  “Did I tell you the test worked this morning?”  

“What?” Tony yelps over Rhodey’s grumbling  “Tell me everything Brucie.”

 

From  _ Honey Bear _

You okay?

From  _ Tony _

Yeah

From  _ Honey Bear _

Tony.

From  _ Tony _

I needed us to have that.  I know what to expect now.  I know how to handle this situation. 

From  _ Honey Bear _

Okay but only if you mean it.

From  _ Tony _

I’m okay

When Tony was small, and Howard was out in the Arctic searching with Maria at his side, he would follow Jarvis around during his tasks.  The wrangling of the pat of flamingos that had taken over the pool area in Beverly Hills.

“Come here  _ kiskacsa _ ,” Ana would say.  Hands out at the end of the day, and Tony would run until he crashed into her knees.  She would kiss his forehead as he clutched onto her, and Jarvis would be standing back, the smile he always wore when Aunt Peggy kissed Uncle Daniel on his lips.  

“You were wished for,” she would say.  “Dreamed about.  Longed for.”

Tony would listen to her tell stories of how much he has been wanted and believe her until Dad came back and ignored him.  

Mom though, she would clutch him close and pepper him with kisses.  He learned to focus on his mother in the stories Ana told.  He would ask about Maria's days as a famous musician.  Her days before him.

He wonders, still, if she regreted him like Dad did

 

From  _ spiderboy _

Thank you

From  _ Tony _

You did all the hard work

From  _ spiderboy _

Thank you still. Rihan can’t stop giggling

From  _ Tony  _

You  both deserve it.

The TV is blaring as Tony and Bruce argue points about the nanobots.  Rhodey is sitting on the couch in jeans and a faded Air Force shirt, upping the volume every time Tony gets antagonistic about the testing phase.  

“We have them built.  We just need to test it.”

“On animals Tony.  Not people, and not on your self.”  Tony raises an eyebrow, and Bruce’s tone gets louder.  “You act like I don’t know about your inability to do proper human testing trials.  You put palladium in your chest and thought that was a good idea.”

Tony breathes through his nose quickly.  “Okay first off, I was hooked up to a car battery and I needed to move around. Also, prisoner in the middle of Afghanistan, so I kind of had to work with I had, which was palladium.  AND, once I got out, I worked on fixing the issue.”

“Without telling anyone,” Rhodey adds.  Peter is sitting on the couch in civilian clothes, eyes wide.

Tony’s nostrils flair.  “Okay so I fucked that part up.  But look at me now, all grown up!  I’m working with a partner and FRIDAY runs simulations for everything, and we can’t act like Vision isn’t keeping an eye on my every move.”

The being in question looks up from the lemons he has been slicing for the latest pitcher of fruit water.  “Mr. Stark needs to be check on constantly,” Vision says.  

Tony puts his head in his hands.  “I’m not a baby, you know that right?  I’m a man in my forties.  I am an adult in every country.”

“This is how we show we care,” Bruce returns.  “We take care of you too.  You can’t just take care of us, and not think we’re going to try to take care of you.”

Tony stills.  “Well, I -”

He’s cut off of the blaring noise of a news alert.  Everyone looks at the screen, as a blonde news anchor says, “There has been an attack in South Sudan. The civil war has been escalating since 2013, two years after the country established independence, when the Vice President and a majority of the new government’s cabinet.”

“FRIDAY,” Tony barks.  

“Already on it boss.  The council does not want the Avengers to engage in this conflict,” she states.  

Tony jerks when Bruce reaches out to his stiff form.  “Today we have seen a fleet of suicide bombers in the country,” she continues.  Tony and Bruce migrate to the couch.  He perches on the seat beside Peter, bookmarking the kid with Rhodey.  Bruce curls up in an oversized arm chair, his old favorite from the days of old.  “But it looks like the Secret Avengers are on the scene here today.”  Her face gets serious.  “Be advised, this is life footage and will most likely have footage that young children should not view.”

The scene turns from the newsroom to the a bustling city.  There are screams, and Wanda is manipulating energy in waves.  She has a barrier around a man, and Tony can see the vest even on the grainy footage.  The young man looks younger than Peter, screams something, and Wanda moves her hands faster, trying to stop him as he presses the button.  

The bomb doesn’t explode.  The wires look to be disconnected. The boy is yelling out and furiously clicking the useless button.  Wanda lets the wall of red down, “Get rid of the explosives Wanda,” Tony mutters.  “They are still live.”

She crosses the distance on the dirt road between her and the young man when there is a crack of a shot as the boy blows up.  Wanda is a few feet away, eyes bright as she waves her hands in a desperate bid to control the flames.  They spiral into a column of fire, and Tony holds his breath, remembering Lagos.  She continues rotating the explosion until it burns itself out.  Nothing explodes.  No one is injured. The entire scene is over in five minutes.

Tony loosens his grip on the edge of the couch and takes in some much needed air.  He can see the others do similar things from the corner of his eyes.  

The camera catches Wanda as she whirls, energy building at her feet until she is flying.  The anchor exclaims something, but Tony knows the wide arch of her energy, how it whirls around her hands without her moving.  “Shit,” he hisses.  When he looks to Rhodey, his face is grim as well.  There is an explosion, and Wanda has a man in the air, sniper rifle hanging limply from his hands.  Red energy encircles the gun until it’s crushes into a metal ball.  She keeps the man in the air, encircled in the cage of red, as she lowers them both to the ground.  

A shot rings out again, and she deflects it downwards.  There is a moment before her eyes widen and she stops the bullet.  It limply drops, only viewable based on the red glow, to the ground a foot away from a mother and child, rushing away from the scene.  The mother doesn’t see it, but the child looking over her shoulder has wide eyes. 

Wanda ensnares the second sniper in her red haze and brings them both to the ground.  She is speaking rapidly into the the communicator as she wraps the men in layers of metal railing to keep them penned to the ground, unable to move.  

She takes off, out of the view of the camera after.

“She was working on refining her control with multiple items,” Vision says when the anchor begins speaking again.  “Before she left the compound.”

Rhodey’s eyes are dark.  “She shouldn’t be alone.  She should have back up.”

Tony is silent, watching the replay of the footage.  “She’s lost some of her control.”  He glances back and sees Vision nod hesitantly in agreement. “The collar from the RAFT must have set her back.”

_ Fuck _ , he thinks as he watches her hands shake in the grainy footage.  That’s not strain, that’s something else.

“Ant-Man has been spotted taking down another bomber,” the anchor says. A kid is furiously clicking on the trigger, but the bomb is disconnected, and Tony is reminded of the suit when it fritzed in Germany.  Lang gets back to normal size behind the kid, and puts him on a hold until the kid passes out.  He takes the vest off before laying the kid on the ground.  He looks around for a moment before spotting a light post and handcuffing the kid to it.  

He puts a small device on the vest and shrinks it until it’s too small to view on the screen.  Lang tosses it to the ground, and there is small flare of fire, but it is quickly put out by the dirt.  The superhero shrinks himself and the camera loses him from there.

When they show Clint, he’s on a rooftop taking down men in black harassing South Sudanese women and children as they try to flee.  He ducks when they start trying to shoot him, but he makes short work of the twenty or so men before leaping from the roof with the use of a grappling hook arrow.

The footage switches without context to Falcon diving in close to grab the wireless trigger from the kid.  He puts one of Widows love bites on it to short circuit the trigger.  This bomber reaches for a gun to manually trigger the bomb when Red Wing drops in close and tranqs him.  The kid falls, but Falcon catches him before he hits the ground.  

He uses the same device as Lang to neutralize the vest and handcuff the would be bomber to a railing.  Wilson takes to the sky, jabbering to the communicator, and poking the screen covering his forearm.  

When they show Widow, she’s a blur of red and black.  She’s not in her suit, simple red top, jeans and boots, but just as deadly.  She has her thighs around the head of a sniper, the bomber is already handcuffed to a car door, vest missing.  The man collapses underneath her, and she drops from him, lands on a caricature of a handstand before springing into a standing position.  She puts hands to her ear, makes a face, and Falcon drops in and grabs her around the waist and keeps moving.  

“We’ve finally found Captain America,” the anchor breaks in.  Her face is lined with tension.  “He seems to be fighting a team right now.  

Cap is surrounded.  There is blood coming from his temple, and he’s wearing a new costume.  It’s without the usual stars and stripes, dark blue kevlar body suit similar to the old mission outfits SHIELD used to use. This outfit has tapered pants and his old Captain America boots.  Blonde hair is a wild array of spikes, standing on end, and his face is grim as he makes a comment, smart alec most likely.  

Tony knows this face too well.  The one from the days of the endless SHIELD missions.  The one from across an airport. Tony’s seen it too many times to not know it intimately.

“He needs someone covering him.  Falcon is usually his back up, but this whole thing gives the vibe that they are just spread thin,” Rhodey notes.  

Bruce adds, “Steve was always bad about going rogue and taking the worst of it on.  We never tried to kill that bad habit.”

All the men look to the one facing Cap before rushing him.  Cap gets lost in the rush, and Tony can’t breathe.  Can’t find any air in his lungs until Cap is pushing back the first rush of people.  One man goes flying, taking three more down with him.  Cap goes low, taking another group of them out with a quick hit to the legs.  The first group goes to stand up, and Cap punches the first guy square in the face, takes his helmet as the guy slumps and tosses it at a second guy, hitting him square in the throat.  The guy gasps and goes down as well.  

The third gets him with a sweep of the legs and Cap goes down before kicking up and bringing the man down with him.  He scrambles to get purchase, and lands on top of the man, who wheezes out. Cap puts the man in a headlock until he slumps.  

“He is really bad about not jumping more and leaving his legs open,” Peter comments.  

Tony makes a noise of agreement, “I was always telling him to fix that.”  Bruce catches his eye with a familiar look of fond annoyance.  

“He’ll be okay,” Bruce says.  “Cap knows how to handle these sort of situations.”

Tony still holds his breath when Cap sees the next group coming for him and looks around for a way out.  He sees the wall and starts running towards it, yelling something only the people on the other end of the communicators can hear.  He jumps, uses the wall as point to push off of, and lands behind the group, taking them out as he can.  He grabs a metal sign from a nearby abandoned food stand and tosses it. Cap takes down three more guys with that move.  He punches the fourth guy, and the group is down.  He straightens, saying something in the communicator again.  

The sound of a gunshot has Cap ducking behind the wall of the abandoned stand.  He’s crouched near the group on the group.  Some twitch, but no one moves.  There are five more rapid fire shots, and Cap works on locating the sniper in the metal gleaming from the bright wind chime like items hanging from the roof.  

There is a sixth shot that has Cap flinching and making himself smaller before the camera jerks.  Wanda floats down from a nearby building, sniper in tow.  Cap comes out from his spot and smiles at her, waving when the next gunshot rings out.  

Steve goes down.  

The camera follows him, and the suits too dark to see if he’s bleeding or not, but Steve’s face says it all.  His face screams pain as he moves until he is hidden behind the stall again. Wanda wraps the first sniper in metal before rushing in Steve’s direction.

“Fry, are you on this?” Tony blurts out.

“Yes boss.”

A man comes out from the building beside Steve.  He has on a dark turtleneck and cargo pants.  Steve recognizes based on the look on his face.  The dark haired man shrugs, and pulls out his gun.  He levels it at Steve, saying things, and Tony knows he can’t make it there in time to stop this.  Wanda’s red energy entraps him, before the man waves a hand holding the gun, and the energy disappears.  Wanda’s eyes are wide in the corner of the frame.  

He levels the gun again, and Steve, in the midst of the distraction has been trying to move away.  There is a hand clutched to his stomach.  Steve stills and watches the man as he grins.  

Falcon drops in, missing a Black Widow and tackles the assailant.  He uses the love bite again, and the man passes out.  He wrestles the unconscious man into cuffs and leaves him face down in the dirt as he moves to Steve.   Wanda’s already there, energy holding pressure to the wound as she floats him.  Steve is smiling gratefully at her, and Sam grabs his arm.  Steve smiles at him, murmuring something.  The trio moves quickly down the street and the camera loses them again.  

It goes back to the shaken looking anchor, but FRIDAY mutes it.

“He’ll be okay,” Peter says, voice shaky.  “Super soldier, right?”

Tony grins, too bright to be genuine.  “He’ll be fine kiddo.  If we couldn’t take him down, he can survive everything.” 

Peter relaxes at that, but Rhodey meets his eyes over Peter’s head, eyes serious.  Tony knows.  He doesn’t need the reminder.  He pulled his punches before. These guys...they didn’t.

Tony keeps his phone on him that night.

  
From  _ Nat Something _

We’re okay Tony. I know it looks like we’re not but we’re okay.

From  _ Nat Something _

The round didn't pierce his suit.  He's bruised but healing.  Everyone else has minor bruises.

From  _ Nat Something _

He misses you.

From _Tony_

Wanda needs help.  She loses situational awareness when she focuses solely on control.  

From  _ Nat Something _

She’s had an issue since the RAFT

From  _ Nat Something _

We’re working on it

From _Tony_

Keep them safe 

From  _ Nat Something _

Always.  

From  _ Nat Something _

Keep the rest of us safe Tony

From  _ Nat Something _

I’m including you in that too

 

It’s the beeping of a monitor that captures his attention originally.  It takes Tony a heartbeat to remember exactly where this is.  But the sight of the nurse’s station remind him.  His younger self walks by, and Tony follows him through the maze of rooms until he is standing in the doorway of one.

Ana is lying in a bed, thin.  Her weariness is written in the bags under her eyes, the translucency of her skin.  Jarvis sits with his back to the open doorway, clutching her hand in his.  

“I should be the first to go,” Jarvis says, twined fingers brought close to his lips as he kisses her fingers.  

Ana smiles, and it’s beautiful.  “With all those adventures you went on with young Agent Carter, yes you should have gone a long time ago. But,” she pauses.  “The good Lord allowed us all of that time.  We should be grateful we had so much.”

Jarvis’s shoulders shake and he hunches for a while.  Young Tony hovers in that doorway, watching and too scared to break the moment.

“We would have been good parents I think,” Jarvis whispers into what is left of her lank grey hair.  

Ana’s voice is weak and thready, “Oh love, we already know.”  She catches Tony’s gaze as he stares at her, wide eyed.  Her smile gentles.

Tony’s throat catches as he watches himself, 23 and running too fast, trying to get as far away from everything.  He watches Ana watch him run.  He watches her struggle, plain on her face, unable to chase after him, before Jarvis looks back at her and she summons a smile for him, asking for a story of Tony’s shenanigans.

(He finds out later, from Peggy, what had happened all those years ago.  She had taken a shot from Tony’s flask before and after she finished the story.  Both stand under a tree at the cemetery, a good distance away as they watch Jarvis, bent impossibly small, tracing the letters on the tombstone.  

“You know,” Peggy pauses.  “She always -”

Tony clears his throat and takes another swig from his flask.  “No.  I wasn’t - I’m not…  I _can’t_ ,” he says after the burn clears his throat.  His sun glasses are perched firmly on his face, but when Peggy turns, it’s like she can see straight through them to his red and wild eyes.  

“The only one good enough for Ana Jarvis is standing over there,” Peggy responds firmly.  She grabs the flask out of his hands and takes another sip for herself.  She winces.  “That’s too cheap for your usual.”

Tony thinks of the woman who used to run around with him, always there when he came home, had taught him how to shoot a gun and hide a weapon on his person, who had never once had to ask what was on his mind.  The only one who had never doubted him.  “I’m not drinking for taste.”

Peggy takes another swallow before handing it back.

One year later, they are both back there, and Tony is the one tracing the names on two separate tombstones.)

 

From 54985-466-8653

I don’t even know if you got the phone.  T’Challa swears you did, but I’m not sure.  

From 54985-466-8653

I want to tell you I’m sorry to your face.  One day maybe I will be able to but until then.  I’m sorry Tony.  I should have talked to you. I should have trusted you.  I should have been your teammate.

From 54985-466-8653

That’s everything I asked you to do, and I couldn’t do it for you.

From 54985-466-8653

It’s just

Draft reply to 54985-466-8653

It was your person, and they needed you and nothing else mattered.

Draft reply to 54985-466-8653

Yeah, I know the feeling

From 54985-466-8653

It was Bucky

  
On day eighty three, Bruce pushes his glasses up his nose and reports, “I think we’ve finished the nanobots.”  He puts his hand back on the table he was leaning on.  Tony is on the other side of the table, staring past him at the TV he has 4 separate screens open on.  He taps away at the keyword, finishing up the clean up on the method for have the nanobots deactivate when programmed.  

He adds the last semicolon before leaning back from the table.  “Yeah,” Tony agrees.  “I think we got it finally.  We just need to do some human testing at some point.”

Bruce watches Tony, and Tony shrugs his shoulders in response.  “Extremis was used to help with my heart.  I’m not a good baseline candidate for a test.”

The other man straightens up as his face clears. “Good.  I don’t need to deal with you shooting yourself up the second I walk away from you.”

Tony grins recklessly.  “I wouldn’t do that.”  Bruce huffs as he gathers the plates and mugs scattered across the table.  

“I’m taking these upstairs and going to breathe fresh air. Let me know if you need anything,” he calls over his shoulder as he leaves.

Tony stares at the container with the minuscule robots floating around in them. They just lay there, dormant. He stands up abruptly and gathers enough of the nanobots for an injection for one human into vial.  He puts it in a steel case with a tablet, an injection gun.  

“FRIDAY,” he says.  “Assemble Mark 49.”

He takes shallow breaths as the suit adjusts piece by piece until everything is locked in place.  Tony grabs the case and heads out the open window before anyone, including himself, can stop him.  

 

From _bruceybear_

Where are you

From _bruceybear_

Tony

From _bruceybear_

You don’t have to do this

From _Tony_

You and I both know I do.

From _bruceybear_

Be safe Tony

 

Tony goes under the water screaming the first time.  He’s shouting things, Yinsen is shouting, the men are shouting things.

He can fill the air rush out of his lungs, the water rushing in.  He thrashed, shakes, pleads in his head.  The water muffles any other noise.  It’s silent, he barely can keep a thought in his head.  There comes a moment where he watches the bubbles as they rise from his mouth.  They move so slowly.  He’s going to die here, he already knows.  He’s going to die here, and it’s going to be in this moment.

He’s pulled up, noise rushing into his ears.  None of it makes sense.  Tony makes a garbled noise as he sucks in air, coughing out water as he chokes on it.  He is shaken, and all Tony can do is try to breathe while noise echoes around him.

He is pressed back under.  This time, his mouth is closed and he holds his breath as long as he can, struggling against the hand on his shoulder, his arms, the back of his head.

Again.

Again.

Again. Again. Again.   _ Again _ .

Water crests over the edge, and it gets on his reactor.  He shakes and shudders, and the hands on him pull back.  His vision is blurry as they hand him back his battery and hustle him back to the room.  

When Tony doesn’t feel like he’s going to drown today, he turns to Yinsen, who is watching him closely.  “Again?” he utters, voice raw.

“Tomorrow,” Yinsen replies.  “Just do as they ask. It will make it easier.”

_ I’m going to die here,  _ he thinks.  “I’ve never liked the easy way.”

There is a faint smile on Yinsen’s face as he wipes the cold sweat from Tony’s face with a ragged handkerchief.  “No.  You don’t strike me as the easy type.”

Tony feels the truth he knows down to his bones beat with his frantic, shredded heart.  Anger bubbles up from the void of surviving.  “I’m not going to make any of this easy,” he says.  

When they come the next morning, Tony tells his captors, with grim determination, “No.”

There is a thought in his head, floating.  He uses that as a lodestone in the water.  Unraveling the idea until it’s a fully formed thought.  Until that is a hair brained scheme.  Until it’s a fully formed plan.

He goes under the water 72 more times before he is shown the stores his weapons, and says, “Yes.”

Tony’s never been easy.  He won’t start now.  

 

From  _ Honey Bear _

Are you sure you want to do this?

From  _ Tony _

It makes sure this doesn’t happen to anyone else.

From  _ Tony _

I have to do this before I lose my nerve.

From  _ Honey Bear _

Tell me if you need me.

From  _ Honey Bear _

I’ll be there in a second.

From  _ Tony _

Thanks honey bear.

From  _ Honey Bear _

Keep your eyes on the most dangerous person in the room and get out the second you feel your life is in danger.  

From  _ Honey Bear _

You owe them nothing.

  
Wakanda is a beautiful as T’Challa brags.  The green of the forests ease into small pops of silver for gleaming the technologically advanced cities.  People point as he flies by, but there is no fear.  No jeers.  None of what he has gotten used to in the United States or Germany or even Vienna.  

He lands on the balcony of the palace with guards approaching from every corner.  Tony stands there in the suit until the face plate pulls back.  “Woah,” he says, hands upraised.  “I’m just taking a buddy up on an offer to drop by and visit.”

The mass looks on warily.  Tony had chosen the lower balcony on purpose, so when T’Challa drops from the higher leveled one with barely any sound, Tony has to roll his eyes.  “Are you seriously this dramatic even as the King and not just when you are visiting me?”

T’Challa’s face eases into a grin.  “I believe you bring out the worst in me Tony.”  He waves to the guards who quickly move back to their stations.  

With sharp laugh, Tony runs a hand through his hair.  “Usually when I bring out the worst in someone, it makes them try to kill me.”

There is something in T’Challa’s face that spasms as he crosses to Tony’s position in long strides.  “You inspire a different feeling in me, Tony,” he says sincerely.

Tony rolls his shoulders as he quietly tells Friday to disassemble the suit into a second briefcase.  It slides off, leaving him in the hot summer sun in jeans and a t-shirt. “You must be a saint.” 

T’Challa grasps the suitcase and settles in a position that is a mirror of the one Tony has.  “Why the sudden visit, my friend?” he queries.  

“Taking your not so subtle hint,” Tony replies.  

Over T’Challa’s shoulder, he sees the Secret Avengers stepping out to the balcony, various degrees of wariness on their faces.  The king catches his gaze and turns, sliding one hand around Tony’s shoulders.  “It seems we have  a guest visiting us,” he greets the others.

Wanda lingers in the back, her gaze steady when Tony meets hers.  There is no red in her eyes or wisping around her fingers when he checks.  She inclines her head to show she sees his check.  Clint stands at her shoulder, bow no-where in sight.  Lang is a bit off to their right.  Sam stands tall to the right of Steve, arms crossed and carefully watching the proceedings before him.  Steve watches Tony with careful eyes.  He looks worn, Tony notes before he closes his eyes briefly. 

_ Did you know? _

“What are you doing here Tony?” Steve asks, quietly.  

Tony lifts the case.  “You asked me if I knew anything about brainwashing.  I know how to cure it.”

Steve’s face lightens.  Sam shifts at his side, but Tony is watching Steve.  “ Thank you,” Steve utters, relief in every line of his body. 

Tony stands there and thinks about silence, about friendship and thinks the noise the shield made against the suit.  He thinks about his mother’s fading smile.  His father’s stern face.  The thinks about Obie and Pepper.  Peter’s carefree grin.  Bruce at work.  The picture of the frozen face is lined with pain in the glass chamber projected in the lab.

“It’s not for you,” Tony replies.

The hand on his shoulder tightens.  He thinks about Rhodey.  Falling and not being able to make it in time.  Pepper glowing.  He thinks about 1,188 people.  The millions before that.  He thinks about the three that it started with, a Humvee on fire in the middle of Afghanistan.  Tony has to remember to breathe.

“Where should I set up?” he asks T’Challa.  

The hand releases as T’Challa takes a step forward.  “Follow me Tony.”

They take a side door that leads them down a hallway until they reach a large lab.  There are a few people in the room, but at T’Challa’s nod, they quickly finish up what they are doing before wandering away. 

In the middle of the room is a glass container.  Most of it is covered in frost, but the face is clear.  

James Barnes, his mind has to continually chant the name to keep those other words at bay, stands in the glass container.  The frost has been carefully wiped away from his face.  He is momentarily struck by the peace on the man’s frozen face.  

There is a chair with an open sketchpad on it.  Tony glimpses the familiar A symbol before he turns back to the room.  There is a steel table that he wanders towards, putting the briefcase down.  He looks back up to see the team gathered in the room still a good distance away.  T’Challa stands a few feet away, Steve at his side.  

Tony looks back down to the case and takes a deep breath before pressing his finger against the scanner.  It beeps loudly in the silence of the room.  

“Let’s get to work,” Tony says evenly.

 

Draft reply to 54985-466-8653

I still miss those times.  All of us together.  The Avengers

Draft reply to 54985-466-8653

I don’t think I ever really knew you well enough to miss you when you left

Draft reply to 54985-466-8653

But I do

Draft reply to 54985-466-8653

I miss you Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay quick recap. Tony is trying to work on himself and forgive himself for a lot of things. He's trying to get over the epic Avengers breakup. He's trying to reconcile his now with what he wants. This is how Tony (or my Tony) does stuff. Faces it down, takes all that hurt and works through it.
> 
> Don't think he has forgiven anyone babycakes. No one is forgiven. Tony just wants to be a human again and not a depressed lump. (also everyone loves him but Tony is great at not seeing other people's positive emotions about himself.)
> 
> I hate this chapter and all it exists for but if I didn't get it out, we would never get to the next part. It's filler, too freaking long, and filled with too many characters.
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading this so far. Comments, kudos and bookmarks are love.


	4. refactor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tony,” Steve says. 
> 
> Tony has also mastered the skill of ignoring Steve in the long months after Germany and Siberia. T’Challa’s wandered away a while back. Steve is leaning against a wall, using it to support him, used to watching Tony work. Tony flicks his eyes to him, calculating the distance before going back to the tablet. It’s far enough.

From  _ PR Minion 1 _

We’ve launched the media campaign with a couple of videos posted on various media sources.  The accounts do not have ties to this group, Avengers, or SI.  If this approach works, we’ll continue with phase 2.

From  _ Tony _

Let me know if you need anything.

From  _ PR Minion 1 _

Actual access to the people in the videos?

From  _ Tony _

Nice try Angie.  Not happening.

From  _ PR Minion 1 _

I tried.  We’ve got traction.

From  _ Tony _

Excellent. 

 

It’s a slow moving morning.  Tony rolls out of bed after three hours of sleep, grit at the corners of his eyes, and a burning underneath his eyes.  He’s used to a lack of sleep.  Puts in the eye drops, slathers his under eyes with the magic repair cream Pepper got him hooked on long before he was hooked on her. 

(Though that’s negotiable.  He’s been hooked on Pepper for various different reasons over the years, each getting deeper, as if he was descending down a staircase.  Falling in love with her is like realizing what’s always been there and wondering how long he’s been here at the bottom of the staircase staring at her.)

It’s still early enough when he stumbles into the Tower’s kitchen that the others are there, sitting around in various states of wakefulness.  Most are struggling to act like humans instead of half awake monsters.  

There’s coffee downstairs in the lab, and Tony thinks about reversing out of the living room before anyone to catch him when Steve turns from the stove and says, “Hey Tony.  You want an omelette?”  

Caught, Tony wordlessly nods and watches as the super soldier turns back to the stove and busies himself with putting the ingredients in the skillet.  “I should probably just have a smoothie,” Tony tries, but Steve waves at him over his shoulder.  

“My therapist tells me it’s good to cook.  Helps with the stress of everything,” Steve says to the stove, but Tony hears him anyway.  This news doesn’t strike any of the others differently, but Natasha’s watching Steve pretty closely.   _Actually_ , she’s always been doing that. Like he’s a pet project or something.  Tony’s quite used to the face.

Tony cocks her head when he catches her gaze.  She shrugs before turning back to her food as Steve continues to narrate, “It’s not like I didn’t cook back before.  Ma worked double shifts as a nurse, and Buck and I -” Steve pauses in the words and movement.  His shoulders are a blunt line, slanting upwards.  Tony waits it out, knows the words screaming from the tense line in Steve’s  back intimately.

The other man lets out a gust of air as he pokes at the edge of the bubbling mass of egg.  “Buck and I used to try to cook these terrible meals for when she came home.  He always said he was staying over because he could get bigger portions when he was with us.  He came from a big family, you know?”  His shoulders are slightly slumped.  “They were terrible.  Half burnt, tasteless lumps, and she always ate them and loved them.  So did he.”

He takes the omelette off the stove and slides it onto a plate.  “What I’m saying is, I’ve gotten better since then.  Just took 70 years,” his smile is bright.  Too bright.  Tony knows that face too well too.

He picks up the fork that came with the omelette and cuts off a tiny bit.  He takes a bite, and it tastes good.  It’s not better than what came out of that little cafe in Culver City, and honestly Tony would kill someone everyday to eat some of the oddities that comes out of Ox and Son in Santa Monica for brunch without gaining a pound, but this is...good.  His face is open, Tony knows, as he pulls the fork out of his mouth.  Probably soft.  He feels soft this morning, young in a way he hasn’t in a long time when Steve slides a mug of coffee in front of him, black with a dash of almond milk.  

“It’s good,” he finally returns.  “I really like it.”

Steve's smile melts into something a little more real.  A little more balanced.  “Thank you Tony.”

Tony bobs his head as he chews his next bite.  “You made me breakfast.  I should be thanking you.”

“Oh my god,” Clint groans into his bowl of cereal.  “The omelette doesn’t suck.  Yay.  Move on.  I’m on a diet and the smell is amazing and I would rather stab you then listen to you compliment each other.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, and Bruce cuts in, “Apparently there is a physical and he’s trying to cram last minute with things that, and I quote, ‘taste like cardboard to be pretend healthy so no one tries to take my pizza away’.”  He’s got patent  _ that’s not how it works and I have explained it 14 times and I have given up all my hope in humanity _ face.  Nat smiles into her tea.

“Sorry buddy, but that’s not how these things work.  I know that and I never majored in bio,,” Tony states as he reaches, and there is some of his juice in a glass.  Steve’s grin is visible out of his periphery.  Tony nods at him.  “Especially if they are doing the blood sugar test.  You know the one for the last three months?”

Natasha nods.

“You’re going to fail,” Tony sing songs.  

Clint’s head falls to the countertop.  “Shut up Tony, or I’ll go destroy something in your house.”

“I’ll make you pay for the damages and oh wait, actual rent,” Tony teases.  “I should make you all pay rent.  Steve can pay his in free cooked food.”

Bruce rolls his eyes as he eats his egg whites.  “Yeah I'm not paying Manhattan rent,” Clint says from the stool he is perched on.  

“You get paid to be here,” Tony counters around the coffee mug he’s switched to between bites of the omelette.  He’s  gotten about halfway through without realizing it. “Spying on the enemy and all that.”

“We’re a team Tony,” Steve calls from the sink where he is cleaning.  Tony’s fingers twitch as the old lessons from Jarvis ring in the back of his mind.  “There is no spying on anyone here.”

“Tell that to Miss Thing who JARVIS plays keep away with on a daily basis,” Tony points at Natasha.

She is the study of neutral.  “I’m keeping my skills up to date,” she offers.  “It’s the Russian way of bonding.”

Tony rolls his eyes.  “Sure Natalie.   _ Sure _ .”

Clint looks casual, but he's spinning a butter knife on the table.  “Can’t hold past lives against us Tony.”

Tony hones in on that and the faint downturn of his lips; he points at him and asks, “What have you done Barton?”

“Tried to seduce Potts while you were captured,” the other man admits.  

Tony almost asks which time, but decides not to ask.  Bad for his ego and all that jazz.  “Did it work?” he queries.  

Clint winced.  “No.  We realized Nat had better chemistry after.” 

Tony snorts, “Yeah.  She has a type.”

“Yes,” Pepper adds, padding into the room in a pencil skirt and blouse.  Her jacket and heels are in hand.  “Short, fierce and stupid smart.”  She kisses Tony on the mouth, barely a swipe of her lips.  “If I hadn’t been in the worst love hate relationship of my life with this man, I would have taken Natasha out on a lovely lunch date the moment it came out she was a SHIELD operative.”

Bruce is watching them now closely.  Natasha is smiling faintly.  “Why not before?” Tony queries, wry.

“I don’t date my admins,” she says before stealing Tony's coffee cup out of his hand and taking a sip.  Tony watches her throat work, detailing the lines there, wondering if he can get her back into bed and nibble his way from the hollow behind her ear to the dip in her collarbone.

“Just your boss?” Clint counters.

Pepper grins as she takes the box Steve's generously made for her containing oatmeal and fruit.  She squeezes his shoulder as she breezes by.  “I was his boss by the time we kissed,” she offers before turning back to Tony, throwing him a considering look.  “You’re CTO right?”

Tony rolls his eyes at the familiar glint he sees. “CIO.  Chief Innovation Officer, Pep.”  

“Oh right,” Pepper responds, taking the last of his coffee before settling the mug beside him.  “I forgot we had to make up a title to make you happy.”

“Got to have a job to feed the kids,” he waves at hand at the Avengers sitting around the table.  “Bye honey have a good day.”

“Have dinner ready for me when I get home,” she tosses back over her shoulder as she saunters out of the kitchen, precariously balancing everything.  

He watches her walk away, with purpose and a hint of some extra slink before she exits the room.  “God I love that woman,” he mutters into his mug.

“We know,” Clint grouches.  “It’s sickening.”  

“I think it’s nice,” Steve defends from where he’s turned back from the kitchen.  

His shoulders are higher than before, but there is a calm about him.  Tony eyes him for a moment, before turning back to Barton.  “Oh we’re sickening on purpose.  It’ll hopefully keep you all for sleeping over all the time.”

“On that note,” Bruce says brightly.  “I’ll go get started on work.”

“No,” Tony whines.  “Don’t leave me to the murder twins buddy.  They will eat me alive and you’ll be crossed out of the will.  I have contingencies for everything in that will.”

Bruce grins at him as he drops his plate and glass with Steve, a grateful word or two exchanged between them.  “Oh Tony,” he laughs.  “I don’t love you for your money.”

“Lies,” Tony bites back, “Everyone loves me for my money.  At least like 72% of their total amount of love.”

Bruce drops his hand on Tony’s shoulder for a moment before he continues to the elevator.  Tony doesn’t lean into the other man, but he does list for a moment after Bruce continues onwards. 

Natasha’s observing again, and he takes a sip of his juice before continuing on.  She follows Bruce’s path to Steve and then Tony, Clint grumbling behind her, before dropping a hand on his shoulder too. “Don’t be so obvious,” she murmurs.  “It hurts to watch.”   Clint bumps into him before heading out, but his Cheshire cat grin gives him away.

Tony rolls his eyes before taking another bite, carefully keeping his mouth shut.  He and Steve enjoy the quiet run of the water for a while.  He watches Steve’s well worn motions when hand washing the dishes before leaving them on the rack to dry momentarily.  It’s comforting enough, watching the pattern that he holds his juice and just stares for a while.  

Eventually Steve runs out of things to wash, and Tony has to quickly turn back to the last remnants of the cold omelette.  

“You are a good person Tony,” Steve says.  There is a fierceness there that startles Tony.

He cocks his head to the side.  “Not sure many people would agree with you, but thanks?”  

There is a long moment where Steve opens his mouth, shuts it, and then shrugs.  “As long as you know.”  He leaves the kitchen, walking close enough to brush against Tony if he wanted to.  

He doesn’t.

 

From  _ spiderboy _

You left without saying anything

From  _ Tony _

To quote a smart lady, I have red in my ledger and I am trying to wipe it out.

From  _ spiderboy _

You did what had to be done.  You did what was an international law

From  _ spiderboy _

Does it even matter if i think you’re awesome

From  _ Tony _

I want my super glue

From  _ Tony _

Did you get the ARC reactor prototype

From  _ Tony _

Do i need to knock some heads together

From  _ spiderboy _

I got it

From  _ Tony _

Good

From  _ Tony _

It means more than you know kiddo

 

Tony’s long ago mastered the art of working under the heavy gaze of others.  He settles into a familiar rhythm, a thin rubber pad unfolded and switched on.  He putters around, looking until he grabs a stylus left behind and tucks it behind an ear as the tablet switches on in his hand.  Tony opens up the visualization of the command prompt he had put together under the long nights.  The hologram of a brain bursts into life, and there is some whispering in the room.  

He preps the bots, FRIDAY finishing the sequences he begins as he starts another.  Turning them on, getting them ready for implantation.  They need to be injected to the bloodstream, before they can orient themselves in the host body and move into position.  Tony’s got a pre-program already written for this entire scenario, a hypothetical he had given Bruce, that he’s still pretty sure Bruce caught onto fairly quickly, but sometimes he lets Tony get away with it.  

He sketches out some contingency plans he doesn’t say out loud.  What is it doesn’t work, what is Barnes is triggered simply by the cold, what if the baseline is wrong, what if he gets his hands on Tony and Steve can’t stop him, or Steve won’t stop him.  By the end of it, he has plans B - H in case something goes wrong.  Tony refines some of Bruce’s postulations, and he starts a notation doc to make sure there is a running log of the items FRIDAY notes that he can add onto after.

“Tony,” Steve says.  

Tony has also mastered the skill of ignoring Steve in the long months after Germany and Siberia.  T’Challa’s wandered away a while back.  Steve is leaning against a wall, using it to support him, used to watching Tony work.  Tony flicks his eyes to him, calculating the distance before going back to the tablet.  It’s far enough.

He runs one last sim, half watching as the progression of bots make their way into the view of the brain, all settling into various locations, more centralized in one spot as seen by their bright light as he grabs the small container of the nanobots.  When the sim blinks the whole hologram green, he mutters aloud.  “We good Fry?”

She sounds tinny out of the speakers of the SI tablet and Tony makes a note in the corner to fix that hardware issue (or plant the idea with Peter who can plant the idea with the team), then let Pep know, and have some random hardware parts to the room the interns turned new hires have decided to camp themselves in.”Yes boss.  I’ll be monitoring them like we tested.”

Tony hms out a sigh.  “Well this is the part that sucks.  You in yet lady?”

“Yes,” she replies out of the speakers in the room.  There is some movement behind him, Tony notes in the gleam of the metal table, but he ignore it as he pulls out the vial and a large syringe.  He gathers the bots into the syringe as FRIDAY opens the frost bitten glass case in the middle of the room.  And there in front of him, taunting him, lays James Barnes.

If Tony wanted to, he could call the glove and have a repulsor blast in Barnes’ chest before he wakes or Steve would make it  across the room.  He wants to - it’s hidden in there, deep under about a thousand other feelings, but it’s there.  It’s been there since Siberia.  Since he heard both his parents dying.  There isn’t a court in the world, he thinks, that would convict him of it.  Well, except the court of one.  

There is a shift of feet behind him, and he thinks they know what he could do too.  They are watching him, waiting to see what he does.  Tony’s never felt more like a caged animal than he does in this moment.  Instead he takes the syringe and thrusts it into Barnes’ chest before pushing the bots into his system.

It means something, he knows, that no one screams at him to stop.  No one says a word.  It’s like all the air was sucked out of the room when Tony moved initially.  He takes a few steps back, tablet back in hand and places the table between him and Barnes.

He knows what comes next. 

Barnes comes to life fighting.  All the peace on his face is gone, instead he is gasping for air, like he can’t get enough in his lungs.  He catches sight of Tony, eyes half there, and Tony knows the sheer panic in them.  The gripping fear that strikes you down to your toes when you think you are a dead man.   He stumbles backwards, and Tony takes a step or two forward, before Barnes pushes backwards again.

“No Bucky,” Steve rushes out, crossing the room to be at the side of his friend.  “He’s here to help.  He’s here to help you.”

Tony stands his ground and watches as the man in front of him slumps, half the size of who he was before.  Like a puppet with his strings pulled.  Watches the wildness bleed out of his eyes and leave this bewildered limp man in front of him.

Something in him, deep inside, quivers and yearns.  But Tony’s used to that.  He nods to the other man.  “Barnes.  You’ve been under for 73 days.  I’ve injected you with nanobots that will be nesting in your prefrontal cortex.”  The relief on the other man’s face sheds.

“These bots are built for one thing only, healing damaged tissue in the area they have been deployed,” Tony continues.  “They are focusing on your long term memory, specifically your implicit memories since they control more of your unconscious actions.”

“How do you know that’s where the problem is?” Steve asks.

“There were all sorts of scans running when Zemo triggered the Asset protocol,” Tony states as he types.  FRIDAY supplies the scans before he can extract them from the server collecting the data under protocol DREXLER.  The quirk of his lips fades before it can even blossom on his face.

He throws up the 2 3D models of Barnes brains.  “Here’s your brain when you’ve been triggered.”  The sensory part of his nervous system is lit up like a Christmas tree in the hologram, pink softly fading into a pastel green and then robin blue before repeating.  

He switches the order of the two images with a wave.  “Here’s you normally.  What is lit up?”

“All of it,” Steve murmurs, reaching out to touch the brain that shifts colors steadily.  Tony doesn’t tell him it’s a live feed from the bots.  But when the limbic system lights up in the center of the see through hologram, he wonders if they know what this means.  He forges onward.  “The bots are there to encourage your brain to not reach the implicit memory that will drive you into the Asset protocol.  Worse comes to worse, it will knock you out before you can do anything.”  

“You are cutting off HYDRA before it can trigger him.” Steve clarifies.

Tony shrugs.  “It’s experimental, but that’s how it’s worked so far. You’ll be happy to note that Bruce has blessed all this on his own before I came down with it.”  Something dances across Steve’s face, Tony doesn’t take the time to inspect it.  “There is likely to be a moment where he loses time after the trigger phrases are said and when the bots kick in, milliseconds, but just enough to probably be noticeable.”

“Will I not be able to fight?” Barnes queries, voice shaky.

Tony doesn’t know how to place the tone.  It sounds desperate, but there are so many reasons why.  He was shaped into a soldier by Hydra, and even with the nanobots, he hasn’t magically gotten any new memories.  He’s still the man who was hiding out, long hair and ill fitting clothing.  He’s a man who knows better than anything else in his life how to kill another man - better than he knows his own name. 

“Bucky you don’t have to fight any more,” Steve says as he holds onto Barnes’ flesh arm.  

“I need to have your back,” Barnes bites out.  It’s fierce in the still of the room.  Steve looks taken aback before Tony slides his eyes away with careful precision.

“There is a difference between you when you fight and when you are triggered.”  Tony replies.  Everyone stares at him.  “FRIDAY scanned you,” Tony shrugs.  “I’ve studied the scans of your brain with some of the best experts in the world.”  

The silence in the room echoes, getting under Tony’s skin until he has to move.  He begins gathering up all the supplies he brought with him, placing them as precisely as he can into the case he brought with him.  

“When?” Steve breaks into the silence, and Tony lingers on the top of the jar he brought with him before returning his attention to the two men in the room.  He carefully studies Steve. The lines there used to not be in Steve’s face.  “Siberia.”

“Oh.”  The word means almost nothing, but everything.  Tony almost confesses,  _ it was after Wilson told me and I was so stupid to not look for it before.  I have never felt so short sighted before in my life.  _ Along with, _ I wanted to apologize.  I didn’t know how.   _ And,  _ I’m glad I didn’t.   _ Then,  _ it would have made all of this even harder.  _

He couldn’t have known, didn’t have JARVIS who would have dug until he found an answer of some sort.  He has FRIDAY now, and she stays within the frame his boundaries.  His boundaries are tight these days for so many reasons.  

“Why?” Barnes croaks out.  It sounds like it has been torn out of his throat. 

Tony needs to type up the notes, let Bruce know about the stabilization, call Rhodey check on the air force crap he’s been tight lipped about.  There are emails from Pepper’s admin about the minuscule remaining parts of his soul he needs to sign away, Peter needs help with an equation and keeps threatening to go to the morons in the ARC unit about the short life issue with the super battery, and Tony doesn’t have time to hand hold a fossil.  His fingers trail across the keyboard, pressing keys but not sure which ones.

“Because it was the right thing to do,” Tony catches himself looking at Steve, watching the man’s eyes widen.  He turns his head quickly, goes back to his tablet.

“You had to remind yourself you were good,” Steve says faintly, involuntarily. Tony doesn’t flinch, but it was a close thing.

The words linger between them, echoing slightly.  Tony looks up from the tablet and keyboard he had been studying, and Barnes is watching him, silent.  T’Challa appears in the doorway, polite smile bright. “Come Tony,” he says.  “You promised me the chance to show you my country.”

Tony grins, bright and effervescent.  “Show me your scratching post kitty cat.”

He ducks the hand that comes for his face, moving too slowly to ever be meant in anger, and misses the way it settles around his shoulders, pulling him close.  T’Challa, Tony can see out of the corner of his eye, is gritting his teeth.  The walk down the hall before separating.  

“You okay?”

“Peachy keen,” Tony drawls.

T’Challa almost reaches out and grabs his face, but he stills mid gesture when Tony flinches away from his grip.  “Are you?  Really?”

“Yeah,” Tony replies, worn down to his toes in a way he hasn’t felt in years.  Since Obie.  “Yeah I’ll be okay.”

T’Challa nods before moving ahead, Tony following closely behind as he points out the many years worth of technology in the building.

 

**admin@sword.org** has sent the following email on behalf of **director@sword.org**

Mr Stark, 

We kindly request your attendance at the Accords Summit in order to get a baseline reading on the Iron Man armor for our records.

Thank you,

Everett Ross

  
The wind carries the noise of chimes, and Tony is seated next to Uncle Daniel, whose grey hair is quickly blooming.  The house is in the corner of the countryside in England, smooth and emerald green as far as the eye can see. Tony is sketching out an equation for a small 

There are raised voices inside of the house.  Daniel doesn’t move when Peggy’s voice comes out in a sharply low tone.  Her words are almost lost in the chime of the wind, but Tony can hear the words, “It’s like you forget the rest of us are here, living, and you’re a madman on a fool’s errand.”

“Just because you gave up on Steve doesn’t mean I will,” Howard snipes.

There is a sharp noise, a slap, Tony knows now, and then a sharp inhale.  “He died Howard.  He died and he left us all alone, and the world moved one.  I moved on.”

“Women,” Dad sneers.  “So fickle with their love.”

“And you’re a mean drunk,” Peggy bites back, fierce.  “You don’t get to put a label on how or whom I love.  You never had that right.”  

Uncle Daniel is grinning softly as he studies the yard in front of them.  Tony should run out there, play out in the sun, but there is something that has him rooted here.  Right here on this bench.  Older Tony has his hand on his younger versions shoulder, absently.  

“I liked him,” Dad says, sounding so unlike himself that Tony nearly stands up.  Uncle Daniel puts a hand on his knee and leans close.  His eyes are kind, always kind, and puts a hand to his lips.  Tony stills.

Peggy sighs out, soft and sad.  She moves, a rustle of fabric, the pants she favors as she walks.  Tony knows the living room in the sprawling cabin well enough he can imagine it.  Dad has a stationary arm chair in the corner that he hides in sometimes.  Peggy is probably perched on the piano bench beside it, straight back, but her hands will rest on the arm of the chair, close enough to touch but not.  “Oh Howard,” and it sounds torn out from deep in her.  From the place with all the sadness Mom always mentions that she keeps buried down so deep.

“I love him still,” she says.  “I just loved him too much, so I had to carve away at it piece by piece until I could stand that pain and be me again, not some shade of myself, angry and so sad.  Like a Shakespeare play sad, Howard.”  Her voice goes up at the end, soft and humorous, trying to mend the rough edges of Howard.

Howard laughs sharply, like broken glass rattling around in a box.  “You never showed anyone that side of you.  I never saw that.”

“I was alone before you bust down the doors to my life.  I’ll always fall back on myself in hard times and shut everyone out.”

The wind stirs up, and the chimes tinkle furiously.  “Even Daniel?”  

There is a pause, before the honest whisper of, “sometimes,” breaks free.  Tony turns to Uncle Daniel who has shaded his eyes against the sun, face away from Tony.  He is patting his knee with a free hand in quick furious motions that speed up and slow down to some music that Tony can’t hear.  There is no rhyme or reason, and Tony stares at him for a long moment before uncomfortably turning away, back the road, wishing the rest would come back.  

“Loving him almost broke me,” Peggy’s voice is faint, whispering probably.  “Don’t let it break you.”

Howard makes a noise.  “You have Maria who loves you more than you deserve,” there is some more humor in her voice.  A brightness that tempers the sadness seeping from the room.  “You have Daniel, myself and the kids.  We’re always here if you need us.  You have Ana and Jarvis, and you know that man is devoted to you.”  There is a soft chuckle from Howard.

“And you have that little boy out there who is more than either of us could have imagined,” She adds.

There is a sharp clap of shoes on the ground.  Tony almost misses the next thing spoken, but he hears it.  He wishes he didn’t, now, later, whatever..  “He’s just…” Howard utters, sounding exasperated, like he is when he looks at Tony’s homework and points out an easy mistake that he should have caught a long time ago. 

“I know,” Peggy responds, solemn and soft.  “I know.”

Uncle Daniel turns back to Tony, but he’s already in motion, sketchpad on the table holding their secret lemonade, and feet moving down on the porch until he can get away.  Get away from their voice and the other noises in his head.  If he gets far enough, maybe, maybe he can...something.  He doesn’t know yet, but he will.

Older Tony stands there and watches Daniel gain years on his countenance as he follows his younger self’s path.  Peggy is out of the door like a shot, her eyes find Daniel immediately.  “What happened?”  

Howard’s close behind, crowding the two.  “You know we can hear outside the duct, right?”

Peggy’s head snaps to Tony, out in the field, laying down and staring at sun sky.  “Oh,” she gasps out, and it settles between the three of them, weighing on them as they watch Tony.  

After a beat, Howard picks up the sketchpad, and skims the page, “Jesus kid,” he sighs.  Tony can’t remember the sketches until he peers over Howard’s shoulder.  It’s the updates to the old Stark Expo car he gave Coulson.  He had forgotten about that. “He’s smarter than me Peg.”

“Cuter too,” Peggy replies, still watching Tony.  “He’s going to be great one day if we can stop screwing him up.”

Howard hums while Daniel grabs her hand.  She looks down, briefly at him, and their eyes meet.  A soft smile is shared between them.  “He’s got all of us for a long time.”

“Stop Fry,” Tony states, voice steadier than he feels.  

The memory dims slowly, the trio fading from view over the course of multiple moments, until all Tony can see are the dull gleam of the sunglasses.  He sits up, slowly pulling the buds out of his ears and tugging the glasses off until he can fold them up as he goes. The room T’Challa has lent him during his stay is sleek and cool, a weird mesh of metal and stone.  Tony feels cold, like a chill is ghosting up his spine as he blankly blinks into awareness, still caught between the past and the present.  

There is noise coming from the earbuds, and Tony fumbles to get them back in.  It’s the dark of the unfamiliar room that makes his movements sluggish, he blames.  “Boss,” Friday is saying in that moderated tone that lets him know she’s been trying to get him for a while.

“I’m here Fry,” Tony responds, voice at a rasp.  “What’s up?”

“You’ve been unresponsive for three hours and twenty three minutes,” she reports.  “This has become one of the discussed 28% moments.”

Tony runs a hand through his hair and down his face, hoping it will wake him from this fog clouding his brain.  “Yeah you can’t count the time we’re under.  We discussed this honey bunches.”

The watch on his wrist has been vibrating for a while, he remembers, like it was a dream.  Something that happened to someone else.  Tony leans heavily on the side table as he stands, legs shaking under the lack of sleep and probably lack of food since Tony can’t remember the last time he ate.  

“The time span is from after you requested the memory simulation to end and when you answered by message,” she intones softly.

Tony tightens his hold on the bedpost he is now using.  The wood is solid, grooves that his fingers trace absently.  “I must have fallen asleep.  It’s not a big deal Fry.”

FRIDAY stays quiet.  He flexes his hand before turning back to the bed.  “I should get some sleep.  Wake me in five hours.”

He lands face first on the pillow and closes his eyes against her response.  There is a ringing in his ears.  It sounds like chimes.  

 

From  _ bruceybear _

You alive Tony?

From  _ Tony _

Yeah

From  _ bruceybear _

We’re here for you if you need us

From  _ Tony _

I’m good.

From  _ Tony  _

Honest.  

From  _ bruceybear _

You’re always good

From  _ bruceybear _

You’ll be good when you bleed out in the suit and activate psychopomp[1] protocol.

From  _ Tony _

Ooooh.  Someone’s been snooping

From  _ bruceybear _

Tony it’s not okay

From  _ Tony _

I’m a futurist Bruce.  Some versions of the future aren’t unicorns and rainbows and chocolate chip cookies.  Some are dark and disturbed, but people still need to be protected.

From  _ bruceybear _

I’m not okay with this

From  _ Tony _

It’s not programmed Bruce.  It’s just an idea, a sketch.  It’s nothing more.

From  _ bruceybear _

Stop planning the world after your death.

From  _ bruceybear _

We need you here now.  Alive.  

 

The flat line of Wanda’s lips lets Tony know exactly how much this is going to suck on the scale of one to Afghanistan.  He hems and haws it at about a the Mandarin was a fucking actor (annoying and slightly painful but something he can recover from).

“Wanda,” he greets, shifting gears to move around her for the food.  She watches him closely but doesn't say anything.  Lessons from bird brain and his super spy twin if he had to guess.  They both know how much Tony hates silence, because he can get lost in his own thoughts around people.  They can take advantage of that.

He takes the bowl from the smiling chef, who chatters brightly to her assistant, jabbering at him.  FRIDAY goes to translate the commentary before Tony waves it away with his free hand.  He takes a whiff of the koshari[2] before bending slightly at the waist to the older woman.  The move excites her as she replies, her words loud and eager, but there is a softness in her eyes.  “Oh, she likes you,” Wanda comments, her eyes faintly red around the edges when he looks.  

“Don’t,” Tony says out of the corner of his mouth.  He takes some silverware and strolls out to the shaded balcony, taking his time to watch the people move as he begins to eat the bowl.  He tries to keep his breathing steady.

Wanda’s grin is dark and knowing when she takes a place holding up the wall.  “You never liked it when I used my powers.”

Tony takes another bite, smothering a sigh.  “It’s not that,” he responds.  “I don’t like you using them on innocents.”

“Like you’ve never hurt an innocent,” she scoffs.  Tony knows her story too well, the bomb that never went off that engraved his name in her brain for forever.  He knows the weight of what he has or hasn’t done is.  It’s standing in front of him.  He wonders what is his worst sin.  Making the weapons, trying to stop them, or being Iron Man and still hurting people.  

“You millennials are supposed to be better than us old timers,” he teases, voice forcefully light.  There is a young boy sprinting after a soccer ball, and an older woman stops it, waiting for his approach before kicking it to him.  His grin is from cheek to cheek.

Her face freezes before anger spills across it.  Her hair begins floating in a breeze Tony can’t feel.  “You,” she says harshly, accented so heavily Tony almost misses her actual statement. “You always treated me like something you don’t know how to handle and so you don’t.  Like you do with Vision.”

Tony puts the bowl back down on the railing, abandoning his people watching as the young boy sprints away, ball clasped between his two hands. “You are young Wanda,” he replies.  He feels ancient, like the gnarled woman down below, weight on his shoulders threatening to bend him, bow him, break him.  “You should get a chance to choose.  You shouldn't have to do this.” He gestures with his head to the lower levels, to being in Wakanda, to having to fight.  “It’s a choice, but it shouldn’t  _ have _ to be one.”

“Instead I should be treated like I am five by locking me in my room when I have done something bad?” she retorts, cutting.  Her face is contorted, conflicted.  Tony remembers watching the grainy footage of the explosion.  Of the people who died.  He wonders if she is using this to hide from what happened.  Her eyes, dark and free from any red, tell him differently.  Tony’s used to being the person someone else uses to blame in order to come to terms with what’s happened.  

“I had thought,” he says, softly.  She is so young.  Too young.  He shouldn’t have been the reason she chose to be molded into his warrior.  She should be able to be young and free and  _ happy _ . Even he had had that chance, once.  Not someone he can see the same fresh grief in that he bears.  No one should have this much sadness locked inside of them.  “I thought I could keep you stay safe.  Stay in your home.  Let you make the choice between two lives after it was all over.”

There had been papers, identities that he had gotten, legally, for her to walk away.  For her to become her own woman, and if she wanted, then she could have come back. Tragedy didn’t have to hound her steps.  Not any more.  He hadn’t had time to tell her.  Hadn’t known how to.  He had leaned too heavily on Steve to handle that communication too long.  Instead he made the wrong call.  It’s a familiar place to be.

“The Compound was never my home,” Wanda states.  Tony can’t hold back his flinch.  It knocks the bowl off the ledge and lands with a loud crack on the floor below them. There is some additional noise, some voices talking loudly. 

He realizes faintly, he can’t remember a single instance where she ever called the Compound home back before, just that  _ the Compound.  _ He had thought, maybe that they would be friends.  Friendly acquaintances.  Had thought they had gotten there.  Tony realizes now, they never really did.  He had imagined it. Had imagined there being a connection.  Something like what he had with Peter.  

Tony wonders what else he imagined.  

“Oh,” he says softly.  He swallows, feeling smaller than he has in a long time.  Like the little boy in the kitchen with Jarvis.  _ What are the parameters necessary to make someone a friend? _  “Vision misses you.”  

He leaves the room, leaning as far from her static form as he passes.  He blows past two people running up the stairs, and he gets down to the lab before anyone can stop him.  Tony’s hands are shaking as he takes in deep breaths that rattle in his chest.  

“I’m okay,” he repeats, louder with every time.  “I’m  _ okay _ .”

He’s not, but at least he knows it.

 

From  _ baby carter _

Not that i would kill you because I love you

From  _ Tony _

???

From  _ Tony _

Uh thanks?

From  _ baby carter _

But if I was to hypothetically maim you, what extremity would you miss the least?

From  _ Tony _

My pinky toe

From  _ baby carter _

Right or left?

From  _ Tony _

right

From  _ baby carter _

Thanks!

From  _ baby carter _

Now answer ross’ email

From  _ Tony _

Never work for pepper

From  _ baby carter _

If you answer the email I won’t have to

 

If he stops thinking for just a second, he can feel Bruce leaning over his shoulder in the early hours of the morning, tracing the route the nanobots would make in the example brain for the program.  

“Tony are you…” he trailed off, and Tony had watched him push his glasses back up the middle of his brow before swallowing his words back down.

And Tony had been frustrated as the simulation had gone red again, failing for the fifth run in a row in the same place.  “Am I what Bruce?” he had bit out. Bruce had stood there, calmly facing him down, and Tony couldn’t help but instantly regret the snarl in his words.  They had stayed there, leaning over the same program, in each other’s faces until something in Bruce’s face finally softened, and Tony knew he was forgiven.

It’s the same look he has with Peter, with his wide gestures and endless enthusiasm.  Rhodey as he bitterly complains about all their lack of ability to take care of themselves while cooking.  Vision as they lean together, working through some small formula.  It’s familiar folds of the skin, the fucking of the head, the hidden grin.

“I’m stuck,” Tony announces.  “I think it’s time to raid the fridge.”  He had stood, started for the stairs before Bruce finally asked.  

“Who are you doing this for?”

Tony feels his shoulders rise involuntarily.  Tension pools between his shoulder blades, dropping down his spine.  Everything in him screams to get small, run.  

“Myself,” he hears himself say. It sounds like an echo.  He has tunnel vision, and Tony knows he has to breathe, has to keep inhaling, has to keep living but there is static in his ears and he can’t see anything but the dull dark stone of that bunker.

Bruce’s exhale sounds like a rasp out, harsh and loud, and Tony blinks away the vision. “If you’re sure.”

Tony isn’t.  “Of course I am,” he responds, wide  grin on his lips.  Bruce isn’t convinced.  Tony doesn’t need him to be.  “Trust me Bruce,” he adds.

Hesitantly, the other man nods, slow but sure.  “I do Tony.”  He keeps their gaze steady, studying Tony like he’s something under the microscope.  Something to study, to break apart and understand.  Like he’s confounding and frustrating but the answer to something earth shattering all in one package.  Bruce steadies when Tony winks at him and continues upwards towards the kitchen.

Tony very carefully keeps his grin on and doesn’t call Bruce a liar.  He doesn’t have the right.

 

sent from **boss@starkindustries.com**

I didn’t give Nick Fury that, and I liked him a lot more than you.

sent from **boss@starkindustries.com**

If you can’t read between those lines...the answer is no

 

He’s back to lurking in the lab.  The glass case has been removed, but Tony likes the room.  Likes the view, wide open and more green than he gets in New York or even Malibu. The sketchpad is still in the chair, open to a sketch of his gauntlet, but Tony ignores that.  He’s been working on the second phase of DREXLER.  The one where the bots deliver doses of chemo to cancerous cells in localized sessions.  The issue these days is the life cycle of the bots and how to flush them out of the system when they are working in bone marrow.  The one he originally brought up to Bruce in the beginning. 

Tony is typing out a solution, FRIDAY observing and making notes in a chat window with observations or corrections, when there are some heavy footsteps in the doorway of the lab.  He knows the steps are loud enough for him to hear as a courtesy.  Somewhere in the days after the confrontation with Wanda, and between being ferried around the castle, mansion thing like a prince, he’s gained a shaggy haired shadow.  It’s been two days, and Tony’s about on his last nerve, jumpy in ways he hasn’t been in a while. 

His hands start to shake, and Tony knows he won’t be able to code any more today.

“You going to sit down or lurk in the doorway?” he throws over his shoulder.

The shadow doesn’t move in the feed that FRIDAY brings up.  If he looks up, he could see Barnes lurking in the corner of the doorway, a his hulking frame supported by his single arm.  

Tony shuts down the feed, and goes back to his sketches.  The stylus lingers in the air, useless for a few long moments before he opens a fresh page and pulls in the fingers for his gauntlet.  He builds it into an arm, a puzzle of smaller plates, easier to take apart or ventilation if needed, but strong enough to withstand a lot of force.  He types out a few metal types, asks FRIDAY to run simulations on force they withstand.  He wonders about vibranium, if T’Challa would trust him enough, scratches out the idea before Fry can take it into account.  

He won’t take advantage of this.  Won’t use this man to his advantage like Dad would.  Like Obie would.  Tony shakes off their shadows, and catches sight Barnes again.  It’s like those days, armorless when he was running, trying to stay alive, and he was rattling apart at every moment.  Focus on the work and you can’t fall to pieces.  Solve one puzzle, and ignore the other.

“I had this aunt,” Tony says out loud, just trying to fill the silence and not think about the days when his PTSD has him hiding.  Not wanting to trigger another round of that sooner than he has to.  “A total badass.  She fought her way past the glass ceiling, raised two well adjusted kids and survived her two great loves dying.” He closes the tablet and pushes the stylus behind his ear.  “She once told me something.  Wear your failures with pride but don’t use them to hurt others.  Use them to remember to be better.” He runs a hand through his hair and looks out the window to the gleaming city.  “I shouldn't have done.” He waves at Barnes missing arm.  “I shouldn’t have done any of that.”

“I killed your parents.”  Barnes is steady in his study of Tony.  Face inscrutable, lips in a flat line, eyes devoid of anything. He straightens, and Tony is struck by the face of his mother, his father from the video.  From the last time he saw them, fuzzy even with BARF reminding him.  By Barnes’ - no the Winter Soldier’s - perfunctory movements in  _ this  _ moment, like there was no excess allowed for him, not even in his gestures suddenly.  

“You didn’t,” Tony replies.  He can taste the honesty on his tongue, and knows he believes that, all the way down to his core.  It feels like a weight has come off.  Like he has shed something unnecessary, finally.

Barnes’ face softens cruelly.  “Yes.  I did.”  

Tony snorts and gathers up the tablet and keyboard.  “Nope.  Hydra did.  They needed their claws in the top.  Did you know Pierce was one of the top operatives?”  Barnes eyes follow him as he moves.  “He worked side by side with dad and Carter for years.  He took over New York when Carter started working towards her retirement.  Hydra needed dad out of the picture to get a way in.  They needed to get 3 down to 2.”

He packs up stuff, knowing Barnes is observing him, pulling apart his every move trying to find the lie.  The fault.  Tony wants to remind him that he’s had people doing this to him for year.  If he didn’t break after the media had followed him from the funeral, screaming,  _ So you cry for your mommy at night Stark?  Show us a tear! _ he won’t break now.

“I remember them.”  He barely hears.  “I remember all of them.”

Tony looks up to him.  Every line on Barnes face looks chiseled in his skin.  All his ninety years is there, for everyone to see.  Every terrible moment he has lived is flayed open in his face.

“Do you want to forget?”  Tony asks, honestly curious. The loss of the weight of the arc reactor makes him feel too light sometimes, so he idly rubs his chest, too smooth edges instead of the cratered seams around the metal.

Steve yells something outside one of the open windows, and he seems steady, finally.  Unlike the times before, where he carried the weight of the world on his trembling shoulders.  Wanda is  floating outside, a peal of laughter skitters in that has Tony turning away.  He’s never heard her laugh like that before, and he half wants to see what makes her sound like the girl he wishes she could have been, before he remembers he doesn’t have the right.  Loud voices chase her.  Clint sounds deadpanned and there is more laughter, riotous and gleeful.  Tony rubs the false sternum on his chest more.  

“No,” Barnes replies, and Tony can’t tell if he’s grateful for the comment that pulls him from his thoughts or not.  “I need…”  

He pauses before starting again, “I need…”

“A reminder.”  Tony finishes. The watch on his wrist beeps, and Tony absently taps it to keep the noise from continuing.  

Barnes nods.  “Yeah.”

Tony’s lips quirk, faintly.  “Yeah I know the feeling.” 

Steve knocks on the open door, and they both look to him.  “Hey,” he says, smile soft.  Sweat is clinging to his brow, shirt too small. “Is this a good time?”  

Tony nods.  “Yeah he’s good.”  He’s still not sure if Steve knows what Barnes is doing, observing him like a bird with his prey.  Waiting for a moment to strike.  The shaking of his hands is back as Steve steps into the room, closer than Barnes.  “I’m not-”

“T’Challa said he wanted to talk,” Tony answers, and gripping the tablet in his hands tightly.  “I should go find him.”

He leaves the room and the two super soldiers, feet eating up the concrete flooring faster than he wants to admit.  He’s still a proud man these days.

 

From  _ Nat Something _

Stop avoiding Cap

From  _ Nat Something _

Stop avoiding me

From  _ Nat Something _

We’re here tony

From  _ Nat Something _

You came to us

 

From  _ Nat Something _

Take advantage of this before you regret it.

 

Tony knows Steve is taking Wanda to her room in the compound.  Tony wants to be there, wants to watch, but he doesn’t feel like he should intrude on the bonding moment.  Since Clint left, Steve’s felt the charge to make the quiet woman feel included and welcome.  She’s finally getting comfortable with Steve, and Tony’s loathed to ruin the moment with her flinching away from his presence.

He and Tony has been working on this for a while, and since today is the first day the compound has been open to more people than Tony and his decorating crew, there are Avengers wandering everywhere in the private quarters.  Next week they’ll be invaded with the people who will work in the public parts of the complex, but right now it’s just them. 

Vision is floating through one wall to the next, and Tony knows that is going to end poorly for him one day, but he can’t keep a grin hid behind his hand.  Natasha knowingly smiles at Tony before heading up the stairs.  She goes directly to her room without any coaching, which explains who found the plans last week (he’s lost twenty to Steve on that one.  He had money on Vision.)

He’s definitely keeps the video on when Rhodey jumps onto his bed and saves that directly to his private server.  You need all the blackmail you can get on best friends, he knows.  And Rhodey has more than enough pictures, videos and texts to use for the next thousand years.  Rhodey stills, then throws the bird at the nearest gleaming camera, like he knows what Tony is thinking.  He chuckles into his bourbon as he takes a sip.

Natasha wanders into Clint’s room too, and looks around with a satisfied sort of smirk, which means Tony didn’t completely fuck this up with typical Stark fashion.  She leaves Bruce’s room alone, drifts in and out of Thor’s orante disaster, before settling back in her own.

“Hey,” Steve greets as he perches on the table next to where Tony is reclining, observing the feed of everyone.  Sam Wilson looks hesitant as he pushes into the room beside Steve’s.  That one had been all Steve, clean and simple.  There was a framed picture that the man picks up immediately, one Tony has searched the internet himself for.  Steve’s request had him up late hours, double and triple checking before printing out the image.

“Hey,” Tony returns.  “You get to explain the rooms, okay?  I’m putting all of that on you if anyone asks.  It sounds like a captain-y sort of thing.  Definitely a team leader item.”

Steve pulls a face, the old argument lingering between them.  “Tony you had as much a call on this as I did. You paid for all of this.”

“You know me,” Tony gestures with his drink.  “This is me buying affection.”

Tony turns back to the video as Wilson puts the picture down.  Steve’s gaze is like a burden, weighing too heavily on him.  He feels like a Catholic who knows he needs to confess, but it’s been too many years and he just doesn’t know how to start.  

He takes a sip, letting the burn clear this mind.  “How did the whole thing go?”  He tilts his head upstairs.  

“Good,” Steve lightens and uncrosses his arms to brace them against the table.  His left arm brushes against Tony’s knee.  They both ignore that Tony jerks a little before settling at the move, leaning heavily on Steve.  His feet stay on the table, socks and all.  “She liked the room.  Said it reminded her of home.”

Tony nods before switching the video off feed and back to the latest disaster in the DREXLER file. “Good.  The kid deserves some good things.”

“You should tell her,” Steve warns.  

Tony shrugs.  “I’ve ruined enough good moments in her life.  Let’s not ruin this one too.”

Steve hums, watching him.  “You don’t give yourself enough credit, you know?”

“I give myself the exact amount of credit I deserve,” Tony responds as he flicks through half finished designs, muttering to himself about the lack of vision and design behind each option.  

Steve stays there for a moment more before standing.  He pats Tony’s knee before heading out.  “Wanda,” he greets faintly as he leaves the room.  

Tony peeks over his tablet before sitting up.  The young woman is leaning heavily on the door frame, fingers curled around the edge. She looks young with her wide-eyed stare.  “Thank you,” she says.  

Shrugging, Tony glances down at the tablet before catching her eyes again.  “It was Steve’s idea.”

Her lips curl softly.  “He said you would said that.”

Tony’s eyes narrow as he clutches his glass closer, resisting the urge to take another sip.  “What else did he say?”

“That you went looking for the things that would make me feel comfortable.  You consulted him on choices to see what I would like.”  Her rings gleam in the dying light of the day that is filtering through the bay of windows facing the training field below, lush green grass and all.  

Tony shrugs.  “Just wanted to make you comfortable.  Be a good host.”

Her mouth rounds.  “Oh,” she says.  Her eyes are faintly red, and Tony doesn’t hold it against her.  She had explained she was still working on her control.  Sometimes she just picks up on strong emotions or thoughts, or her powers just wander until she realizes she is in someone’s head.

He’s not sure what she saw, what she heard, so he keeps his lips tight.  “Thank you Tony,” she repeats.  

There is a small give in her eyes.  Something else is in there that is new and startling.  He can’t place it. “You deserve it.”

Vision phases through the wall. “Wanda,” he says in his steady tone.  It’s as close to excited as he gets.  “I believe my room is near yours.  Would you like to see it?”

She puts her hand in his, face blossoming.  “Yes.”  They both float out of the room as Tony watches.  Wanda turns back before they get out of sight, a secret smile on her lips.  Tony returns it uncertainly.  

It takes a while to get back to his code after that.

 

From  _ honeybear _

Stop torturing yourself

From  _ honeybear _

Come home Tony

From  _ honeybear _

Soon

From  _ Tony _

Soon buddy

 

Clint is perched outside the windows, staring out at the gleaming city beneath the place when Tony swings out a window and grapples up to the roof.  The old days when he was 15, too young and too smart to fit into his own skin, itching to tear the world down around him, burn it until it fit him, shaped him, wasn’t built to fit someone else’s design, hound him.  Eats away at his mind, at his intent, until he is sliding in beside Clint, sunglasses on and clad in a T-shirt and jeans.    They sit there, lost in their own skulls, as the sun beats down.

Sweat drips down Tony’s spine and reminds him exactly how little time he has spent outside his suit or even outdoors recently.  A breeze gusts in every once in awhile from the north.  If he focuses enough, and if FRIDAY automatically adjusts the view on the glasses lenses just right, then he can see a storm rolling in from the distance.  

“I know,” Clint comments, finally.  Soft enough to be lost on the wind if Tony lets it.

Tony looks upwards, to the small clouds lazily moving across the sky.  “I think I am going to be sunburned,” he mutters.  “Bright pink, peeling in two days and blister popping burnt.”  He shades his eyes as he gazes upwards.  “To a crisp.”

Clint says nothing.  “But it’s nice here.  I can see why T’Challa is so fond of this place.  Great technology, gleaming city state.  Borders protected from attacks and thriving economy.” 

Tony turns to Clint.  His face is inscrutable.  “He’s found the perfect mixture between farming and technological advancement.  You see that area?”  Tony points to a farm in the West region, closer to Clint.  The man following his finger with his eyes.  “That farmer is testing his soil and uses the results to plant whatever he needs to help enrich the soil.  The entire community lists what they are growing to make sure they have a good balance or if the minister of agriculture needs to ask to have something more heavily imported.”  

“They use force fields to protect the crops,” Clint offers with a rasp.  “You can see the sheen if the sun hits them just right.”

They watch and until the sun peeks past a lone cliff.  The beam hits the field just right revealing the gleaming hexagon tiles.  

“They use unmanned aircraft for irrigation, insecticides, or just checking out the crops.”  Clint nods to a field to the east side.  “She crossbreeds different varieties.  She’s got something spending up the growth of crops.  That corn over there was planted a month ago.”

Tony hums, thoughts whirling, “Half the time, huh?”

“Half the time,” Clint repeats.  His tone is sure, like when he is looking down a scope and tells Tony to move his hand a beat and let a repulsor blast go, even though Tony can’t eyeball the target and the guidance system is down.

(They had barely missed Widow as they hit the Hydra enhanced goons.  She hadn’t flinched, just nodded in Clint’s direction before taking off, bending and then launching herself in the air.)

Tony lays back on the roof. Clint stays sitting, feet dangling over the edge. “You didn't have to.”  He says finally.

Tony watches as the lazy clouds pick up speed and start moving.  “That storm will hit soon,” he muses.  He stands up and dusts off his jeans.  “I owed you.”

He jumps off the roof, the suit gathering around him as he falls.  When it completes, he adjusts the trajectory with FRIDAY’s help and climbs until he is floating over the center of the city.

“You get enough time to encrypt his phone’s signal and add the phone number Fry?” Tony asks as he has the suit analyze the force field and the half life crops.  

“Yes boss.  I also notified Mrs. Barton.  She is calling him as we speak.”

Tony doesn’t look back.  He watched the scrolling data on the HUD.  

“Good job Fry.  Start going through the data and see if we can replace either process with Starkium instead of pure Vibranium.”

She ascents softly as he heads back into the balcony where T’Challa is housing him for the meantime.  He tries not to think of all those bridges he burned back in the old days.  The ones that still haunt him today.  

Tony never expects to be forgiven these days.  People don’t forget personal betrayals, he knows better than breathing.  He’s learned how to handle loss better than most.  He’s a quick learner, and repeated lessons help beat the answer home.  

It’s a lonely path, burning down the world.  Maybe, he wonders, fingers skimming the edge of the metal balcony, maybe he didn’t learn as much as he thought.

“Never been easy,” he echoes in the second between one thought and the next, and ironic smile on his lips as sees the cave around him in a moment. “Never will be.” 

 

To: _ Tony _

CC:  _ avengerslegalteam _

We have begun polling, and we’re at 2 out of 6.  How would you like us to proceed?

To:  _ avengerslegalteam _

CC:  _ avengersprteam _

All.

To: Tony 

CC:  _ avengerslegalteam _

Can do.

To:  _ avengersprteam _

You just sold your soul to the devil, I hope you are aware..

To:  _ avengerslegalteam _

He can’t be that bad..

To:  _ avengersprteam _

Oh Angie.  You naive land mermaid.  I almost feel sorry for you.

 

This memory takes place in the old mansion’s empty living room after the paints have been put back, the trinkets his mother had brought from her travels all over the world wrapped in paper, any trace of his father hidden from sight.  Instead, the tables are filled with cut out articles.  Tony’s face is on front pages of newspapers, magazines, you name it, he’s on it.  

Peggy sits across from him, her eyes lined.  “It’s a good picture,” she muses, a cigarette burning between her fingers.  Tony hasn’t seen her take an inhale since her first, sucking in the smoke like it was her last breath.  It’s about half it’s size, slowly smoldering away.

“How do you handle this sort of thing?” Tony doesn’t want to - hates to, but he asks anyway.  “How did Dad handle it?”

Her face eases, lines get tighter in places as she looks up from the article in hand to him.  “Your father was making headlines before I even knew him,” she imparts slowly.  Her fingers curl reflexively.  “Not as much as he was toward…” She trails off, looking into the table covered in articles like it contains the answers to the universe.

Tony stays there, unmoving, like he has learned to in the past nine months since the funeral.  Sudden movements when Aunt Peg gets like this only end up with a sprained wrist, a second cigarette she sharply inhales, and heartbreak on both their parts.  Peggy shakes it off after a moment.  “He always said making the worst parts of yourself, the ones you hate too, bigger so everyone is distracted by them was his best trick.” She snubs the cigarette out in the ashtray hidden behind more than a few papers.  “I always thought he did that so no one would critique the man behind the puppet face.”

She fans her hand across the pages, fingers tracing Howard’s face, young and dark.  “Howard,” she trails off.  

“You loved him didn’t you?” Tony offers, twenty two and there are only three great women in his life.  His mother who loved Howard enough to give up the only life she knew to spend it entertaining people and smoothing over his rough edges.  There is Peggy who hated Howard in the end.  There is Ana who was fond of the eccentric man who helped her and her husband, but not an avid supporter of his habits.  She had been closer to Maria. There are no shades of grey.  Not for Tony.  Not on this.

“You’re thinking too small Tony,” she chides, tone light.  Peggy traces the curl of Howard’s mustache, smile in the corners of her face when she says, “It was so much more than simply that.  He was supposed to be the one to outlive me.  He swore he was going to outlive us all.”

When she catches his eye, there are no tears in her eyes.  “I loved him because he was one of mine.  One of my family.  He had shared so many things in his life with me, and I with him.  He shared you with me.”  Tony swallows hard at the wonder in her tone.  “I’ll always love him, but not in the way you think.  He was the person I always had in my corner.  I never had to look.”

“Always?” Tony asks, thinking about the glasses thrown at doors, the steady click of heels and slamming of doors.  Of the silence after, echoing the house.  The weariness that ate at all of them. The anger that burned the remains left.  

Peggy smiles, soft and full of so many stories.  “Even when we were at our worst.”

His hand moves of it’s own volition, covering hers.  She curls her fingers around his and squeezes.  “Now this,” she says, grip still tight.  “Let me tell you a secret he told me once when we were too drunk to be probably be able to remember the conversation.”

“Admit your weaknesses,” Peggy whispers, only for him.  “Wear them like a coat.  No one will believe they are truly your soft spots if you actually admit them. You’ll find it helps you in the long run too.  Once you are honest.”

“Don’t share all of yourself.  Keep some for you.”  She lets go of his hand. “Wear your failures as badges of honor because you  _ learned _ .  You understand?”

In that moment, he doesn’t.  Thirty years later he does, he stands there and reads every one of the regrets in her body, the way she holds herself close, the way her fingers stay close enough to reach out again if needed.  The way she keeps her eyes on the door.  He understands more of those regrets.  The secrets she held and took to her grave.  The grey hairs he gave her.  Tony understands better than Peggy probably ever wanted him to, but that’s one of his many regrets that he gets to hold.  

“Yes,” he lies between his teeth.  And Peggy knows it’s a lie, but she lets him get away with it, a quick pat on the hand as Jarvis, white haired and firmly pressed into position calls for her.  She goes, and his younger self turns back to the articles.  

He watches her cross the room out of view, the strong stride that eventually faded until she needed a cane, then a walker, then there was no walking at all.  Tony misses her like there is a hole in him, bleeding out with every dull beat of his heart. It’s a familiar throb that follows him through his day.  

Tony stands and says, “Restart FRIDAY” as he begins the memory again. And again.  And again.  Until the burning under his eyelids sends him to bed for few hours before waking heavy limbed and tired down his bones.

 

From  _ Tony _

We should run away

From  _ Tony _

Open a snowcone place

From  _ Tony _

On an empty beach somewhere

From  _ Tony _

You and me and the waves

From  _ honey bear _

I can liquidate the accounts.  

From  _ Tony _

Just use your offshore one

From  _ honey bear _

Oh yeah, the “Rhodey isn’t fun and we should make his taxes hard account with how I pay his salary as SI liaison” account

From  _ Tony _

Okay it’s nicknamed “Rhodey fun money” come on call it what it really is

From  _ honey bear _

Says the man who made me hire a tax accountant because of his shady practices

From  _ Tony _

All Pep, cupcake. 

From  _ honey bear _

Goddamnit you reminded me.  I owe her shoes.

From  _ Tony _

Want in on the shoe bouquet I am sending her???

From  _ honey bear _

Yeah

Take the money from the “Rhodey uses this to pay for favors so it can’t be called bribery” account

From  _ Tony _

Ugh sure whatever.  How big did you fuck up?

From  _ honey bear _

Louboutins

From  _ Tony _

I’m not asking

From  _ Tony _

Done

From  _ honey bear _

Ty

From  _ Tony _

Np. Always got your back

From  _ honey bear _

I got yours too Tony  

 

Barnes has been there for the last few hours, Tony knows because FRIDAY sends off a proximity beep from the watch every few minutes to remind him that Barnes has not left the room.  He just hangs out in the doorway, far enough away to not cause any damage without giving Tony enough time to call the suit but in plain sight.  Tony doesn’t acknowledge him as he peruses the data from the nanobots.  

There are terabytes of information, and it’s fascinating how the way the brain reacts to the external stimuli of the nanobots once they have settled in.  Barnes has had some moments.  Not triggering moments, but moments where his brain activity shifted, like he was sliding between personalities.  Someone else rising to the forefront and the sullen, quiet Barnes slipping to the back. Tony’s fingers itch to hack into the security cameras and figure out which moments these spikes are time stamped.  He doesn’t want to push his welcome with T’Challa.  He knows he is on perilous ground every moment, having a Stark here in the heart of Wakanda.

He thinks of Obie.  How he would be shaking hands in front and then tearing apart the place, every nook and cranny to get his hands on as much Vibranium as possible.  Trying to find a source to ship it out of the country, desperate for money.

Tony tries hard not to be the person he knows Obie would be.  Uses that as a guard rail.  Tries to not slip below the line.  

(He has and will continue to have those days where he does.  Tony wants to be able to count them on his hands, but he knows he won’t be able to eventually.)

He types for another few moments, FRIDAY dogging his every step.  Cleaning up behind him, opening up the next tab or window, completing his sentence.  He pauses sometimes, just to see if she will direct him somewhere better instead of where he was planning to go.

There is a spike then, a gentle vibration of the metal implanted under his left wrist that notifies him.  FRIDAY in the computer, in the cameras, eyes everywhere.  

“I used hold my breath underwater until I couldn’t breathe,” Tony mentions, sliding the data from the last twenty four hours into an email for Bruce, just in case and locking down the systems on the computer.  It’s the only one in the room that is not biometrically locked.  It has a direct link to FRIDAY’s servers.  She’s always been fast, but just in case.  “There was something about watching the world under the water.  I’ve always loved it.”

There is a dull thud and Tony can see the reflection of Barnes in the blankness of the sleeping screen.  He’s hunched, looking smaller than Tony can every remember seeing him, half folded within himself.  He’s got a fault line running through him that is evident to anyone who can see him.  He’s barely holding it together, but he’s there.

Tony takes in a breath.  “Want to hold your breath?” he asks.

“Steve says I can trust you,” Barnes replies, like Tony hasn’t spoken.  Like these are the only words that he can push out himself.  

“That’s not an answer.”  Tony returns before he clarifies, “Do you want me to trigger you?”  There is a pause that lingers between them. The silence is only broken by the soft misting rain outside the room.  The dark clouds aren’t rolling, just putting a cast over everything.  It’s silent outside, unlike the buzz of activity during the last nine days Tony has been in Wakanda.  

Tony leaves it for as long as he can before he continues, rolling his shoulders to fix his posture, “You are allowed to want to know you’re safe.  That you can’t be him unless you want to be.”  Tony shrugs.  “I would want to know.”

Barnes is wound so tightly that Tony wonders if he needs to call the suit as a sentry, just in case.  He leaves a hand on the watch, ready to call FRIDAY is he needs it.  It vibrates under his fingers, letting him know she has his back in case he can’t make the call.  

“Do it,” Barnes says and takes a seat a few tables away from Tony. He’s tense.  All muscle and fear.  Tony stands, ready to make an exit or call the suit the second he needs to. Tony waits until Barnes looks up from the table and meets his eyes with a steady nod.  There is so many things in his eyes that Barnes hides in a single long blink.  He looks back at Tony, soldier in the forefront of his brain.

Tony slips on the sunglasses, the phrases FRIDAY spent a painstaking amount of time piecing together from various rounds of footage they had borrowed from the Counter Terrorism unit scrolling across the lens.  He clears his throat.  It sounds like a gunshot in the silence of the room.  “Longing.”

Barnes bends forward and grips the table tight enough that his knuckles are white. But there is no change in his demeanor. The watch vibrates.  Tony taps it, and slips the band into his back pocket.  He’s got a few new widow bites in there if he needs them.  A shock or two should give him enough time to run if he throws them right.

“Rusted, “ he continues.  There is nothing that changes in Barnes face, and the watch vibrates twice his time.  Tony doesn’t look at the display, just shakes it and points a frown at the nearest camera, knowing FRIDAY can see him.  

“Seventeen.”  Barnes is shaking, tiny tremors that FRIDAY notes in a rhythm on his wrist.  His face is carefully blank, like he is trying to wipe any trace of himself from view, keep himself in a secret locked place in his head.  

It’s just like what Aunt Peggy used to explain when Howard made her go over protocols in case he got kidnapped.  Scenarios where torture were involved were Tony’s least favorite, but her steady tones walked him step by step what would happen.  What he needed to do to survive.  How to preserve food and water, how to keep looking for an exit, what to do so they could find him,  what to do to  _ survive _ .  

It’s a mistake because Tony sees so much in the blankness of Barnes face.  He’s terrified and Tony wants to tell him,  _ trust me.  I would not put you through this, Steve through this, if I wasn’t sure.  I was sure before I came here, and I’ve been sure for the last nine days. _  Instead he says, “Daybreak.”  

The tablet beside Tony blinks to life, FRIDAY pulls up the stats from the nanobots.  Feedback reads clear from the bots in the brain. She has clearly given up on communicating with the watch.  He eyeballs the vitals, heart rate is high.  Brain activity is normal for Barnes.  “Furnace,” he intones, the twitch of a grin under his mustache..

Barnes straightens, bewildered but calm. He looks bewildered but clear.  He blinks slowly again, and there is a small trickle of emotion softening his face.  “Nine.” 

Tony can’t keep looking at Barnes’ face, the aching hope there.  He turns back to the tablet, the refresh of Barnes vitals shows his heart rate slows.

“Benign.” The computer reads him as normal.  100% across the board, he is normal baselined Barnes from before Zemo triggered him, the one who lurks in the doorways of rooms where Tony is.  This is still the same man Tony has interacted with for the last nine days.  Tony stills his grin, needs to wait before he jinxes the entire thing.

“Homecoming.”  There is a brief beep from the computer as there is a spike, but Tony wonders if it is more from the connotation behind the word itself than anything going on with the situation at hand.

“One.”  They both hold their breath.

“Freight car.”  Barnes doesn’t smile, but his face isn’t perpetually pulled into a frown for once.  Tony can see an echo of the man Steve used to talk about with such a longing in his tone that even Tony felt the grief echo in him when Steve would break off in a conversation.  Tony feels a confusing blankness at the concept.

“I’m…” Barnes begins, but can’t seem to finish.  He looks bewildered, confused that he still here at the end of the trigger phrase.  Tony can’t hide his triumphant smile any more.  

“You’re you.” Tony gathers his equipment into the case he had brought with him this time.  He saw this coming, and had more bots in case they needed them.  In case he needed to do something drastic.    

The chair under Barnes shifts, but Tony fusses with the case to keep from looking.  “Do you still swim?” comes suddenly from across the table.

Tony taps his chest, missing the dull echo of the metal.  “Not recommended any more.”

“I bet you do a lot of things you shouldn’t.”  The Brooklyn is back, heavy on his words.  There is a brief hitch in Tony’s chest before he smooths his breath out.

Tony smiles faintly.  “I used to.”

Barnes weighs him carefully, eyes dark.  Darker than Tony knows what to call.  He reminds Tony of Natasha suddenly, and how she can pull him apart with her eyes.  Open him up and see every broken piece inside of him and know the cause of it all.  Know him better than himself.

He hates Barnes a little bit in that moment, but it’s different than the one that ran screaming through his blood in Siberia. It had been code green rage.  The one that Bruce had whispered about in the early hours, curled into a ball.   That one curled into his bones, into his DNA until all he wanted was to express it.  That one had destroyed him and rebuilt him from one heartbeat to another until he was unrecognizable to even himself.

This is a soft rage, a fearful rage.  One that settles in the gut and simmers but does nothing.  One that keeps him at attention.  One that reminds, one that lodges there in the back of his mind, in every moment.  It’s more of a fear than a rage.  It’s knowing that someone sees you - all of you, even when you still don’t know all your moving parts.

Barnes nods, sharp and stiff before leaving the room, leaving Tony staring blankly after him for a while, wondering who he hates more - Barnes or himself.  He scoffs at the question and knows the answer before he leaves the room himself.

 

From  _ i think he’s rhodey’s and bruce’s and they are using me for the money _

Did you convince Wanda to reach out?

From  _ i think he’s rhodey’s and bruce’s and they are using me for the money _

Thank you

From  _ Tony _

I just reminded her of what she lost when she walked away

 

“Do you really want us out?”  Steve asks into the sudden silence of the AC/DC Tony has been rocking out to while devising a new suit.  One that worked in space since that may be a thing with Thor traveling back and forth between the realms like it was no big deal.  The tower was getting a bit crowded these days.

He jots down a note  _ compound?  _ Before putting down the stylus.  “Uh no?”  

“You were giving off some pretty heavy hints there Tony.”  Tony expands out the boot, ripping the design apart until he can see the pistons inside it being simulated in flight. “I don’t know how to say things sometimes,” he offers up.  “I tease and make fun of all you guys because I like having people around.  If you draw attention to it, and people don’t stop, it’s how you know things are truly okay, right?”

He doesn’t look away from the holo, but he hears a few steps into the workroom.  Tony’s always though Steve’s tread was fascinating.  He steps differently, and Tony isn’t sure if it’s a past thing, a serum thing or a Steve thing. It’s the biggest mystery Steve Rogers has these days.  

“So you’re okay with all this?”  Steve asks again.  “All us living here in your tower, not paying rent, or doing anything, but just living here?”

“Yeah.  It’s less...echoy when you guys are here,” Tony waves around the room, still intent on watching the pistons, because it looked like there was one half a second off. “And Dummy likes when you visit.”

Steve’s voice is measured, like he doesn’t know how to approach this bomb that is Tony.  It’s a familiar tone. “If you’re sure Tony.”

“When am I never sure?” he scoffs as he pauses the 3rd piston from the bottom.  Definitely out of alignment.

Steve doesn’t dignify it with and answer and Tony is grateful for the reprieve.  “Swing by whenever.  The rooms you guys have are biometrically locked to each of you.  I can’t even get in without some crazy overrides.”

“That seems a bit much,” Steve comments, and this time Tony looks up. Steve is definitely eyeing him like Tony’s something he’s never seen or met before.

“Just being a good landlord,” Tony shrugs.  “I have standards, okay?”

“You know you don’t have to do this.”  Steve cautiously says.

“I don’t have to do a lot of things,” Tony comments idly.  “Most of what I do is because I want to.”

Steve still looks uncertain, so he pushes with, “You sure?”

“Yeah. Now will you stop questioning me?” Tony waves his hand over his shoulder at Steve as he turns back to his project.

Steve smiles.  “Yeah.”  He pulls out his sketchpad and settles in the couch.  Funny rolls up, low beeps for a greeting, and Tony watches as Steve runs his fingers over the edge of the bot, carefully managing his strength.  

Tony watches the interaction briefly before turning back, losing himself in his project, silence echoing too much.  He taps on the tablet beside him and the music levels rise again, quite enough to not kill Steve’s hearing, but loud enough to help Tony lose himself in his work and stop thinking.  

 

From  _ Tony _

Bruce it worked

From  _ bruceybear _

Did it?

From  _ Tony _

We triggered and nothing happened

From  _ bruceybear _

Who was in the lab with you

From  _ Tony _

He seems good

From  _ Tony _

His pantherness wants me to stay for dinner so i may head back soon

From  _ bruceybear _

Tony

From  _ Tony _

Don’t ask questions you know the answer to

From  _ bruceybear _

You have a deathwish

From  _ Tony _

Not really

 

The steps are quieter this time, not the heavy clinking but the tread is the same.  Tony doesn’t even need the alarm from FRIDAY to know who it is.  There has been a change in the man in the past 48 hours as FRIDAY has been sure to notify him.  Barnes is freer, more willing to interact, but he’s still a loner, glancing towards numerous exits briefly.  He’s not the man Steve use to reminisce over, but he’s alive, so Tony counts it as a win in the Steve column for ongoing Steve vs the world battle.  

Every time, the man stays just inside of the room, leaning against the door on the furthest exit from Tony, careful to show himself.  He is slumped, trying to make himself smaller, less threatening.  He still has one arm, and Tony has drawn plans on the tablet, more completed ones in his brain, because this is a problem he can’t not want to solve.  He wonders while he sketches neural interfaces, thinking through response times, figuring out how to have fine articulation feedback with the brain, what his father would have thought.   _ It’s a damn good project, but you shouldn’t share any of it with him. _

What his mother would have thought.   _ He’s lost and deserves someone in his corner.  Everyone deserves that. _

What Peggy would have thought.   _ Do it, but build in a kill switch if you need it.   _

He wonders if he is betraying them.  Betraying Jarvis and Ana and their legacies.  His chest spasms at the idea of betraying them at their cores.  He shrugs before continuing on his latest round, notations added around finding the Wakanda medical files on Barnes, scans included.  FRIDAY adds onto it, link to another server file as she begins to populate it with the information she digs up from T’Challa’s servers.  It’s not the first time he’s done it.  

“Steve says you were taken once,” Barnes throws out, over three hours and thirty nine vibrations from his watch later.  

Tony hunches down, pretending he didn’t hear it at first.  Barnes lets him have that, staying silent for three more vibrations, Tony finally replies.  “Yeah I was taken in Afghanistan.  Ten Rings got me after a weapons presentation.”

“So you know,” Barnes continues from his place.  “What it’s like when they take you and try to rip to you shreds, and you’re holding onto the one thing you think that can keep you from falling apart.”

Tony puts down the stylus and looks at Barnes.  There is something about him.  Something different.  Tony can’t put his hand on it.  “Yeah,” he replies softly.

Barnes struggles for the next words and looks frustrated that he does.  “What did you do?”  He pauses before clarifying with, “After?”

The words echo between them, and Tony gets lost for a moment.  He can feel the shock in his chest, the ripping open of him, tracing the cool metal.  He can see Yinsen, already dead at the core and waiting for his body to catch up.  Thinking of Rhodey, knowing this is tearing him up inside, and knowing it’s Tony’s fault.  Pepper and all he hasn’t admitted.  Regret about those final words for everyone.  Fear that tears him open, leaves him exposed.  Seething anger rolling around in his gut that is getting him up and moving.  

The seed of an idea blooming into something magnificent.  Something beyond what he has ever thought before, and  _ oh  _ the future implications.  Protection of those he cares about, stopping this, clean energy, weapons industry privatized, wars stopped. Peace in our lifetime.  

“We’re made up of our experiences,” Tony offers, finally.  “Even the ones forced upon us.”

He tilts his head.  Barnes is still standing near the doorway.  A desk, chairs and a rolling table are between them.  

“We are not the people who broke us into the shapes we are today,” Tony continues a faint voice, thoughts still lost in Afghanistan, like he can feel the fire around him, screams in the air..  “We are also not what they meant for us to be.”

“Thank you.” Barnes says softly.  

He turns back to his tablet, switching the open table to some code, intent on reworking the method for retrieving the satellite data for Redwing.  He can’t have anything else to do with Barnes in this moment.  There is too much...too much  _ everything _ .  Barnes’ heavy gaze stays with him through the next 30 minutes. 

When he finally looks up again, he’s alone, and there is a smoothie on the rolling table.  It’s green and looks like the ones he has at home from the distance he’s at.

Tony doesn’t touch it.

 

From  _ Pep _

Tony we need you back here by the end of the week.  There may be a situation

From  _ Tony _

You need Tony stark, CIO or former CEO

From  _ Pep _

I need my friend

From  _ Tony _

I’ll be back in a day

 

Tony’s eight, completing chemistry homework.  It’s harder, not something that he sees slotting into place like math, something that just hums to him when he sees it.  Something that has steps and rules and boundaries.  It just  doesn’t make the same sense in his brain as math.  He’s working in his homework, when Mom strolls in, looking drastically different than usual.

Her hair is blonde, eyebrows matching.  Instead of her typical loose curls, it's straight cut off at the shoulder.  Tony watches her carefully, knows what this is.  

Her eyes are still dark, but her lips are ruby red.  Her dress is shorter than she favors, heels higher.  He knows Aunt Peggy does this too.  Uncle Daniel is here some nights she goes out looking differently.  Or Dad.  Both men always sit close to the phone, waiting.  Howard never has a drink in hand, just idly sketches.  Daniel stares out the window, hand tight on his pants until it’s wrinkled enough Jarvis frets terribly when he sees it.

She was never traditional, Tony knows because Dad remarks on it every once in awhile.   Mom usually kisses Dad for a long time, hands lingering when he says that.  Tony thinks it’s because Mom easily slips into wigs and heels, grabbing Peggy’s arm in hers as they go out some nights, laughter following behind them until their steps change.  Their strides get longer, eyes at half mast, smiles wider. They come back long after when he should be awake.  Voices serious, tense until they curl around their husbands, softening with every moment they are away from where they came.

“You going to be okay cucciolo[3]?” Mom asks, moving things into a purse.  The ID doesn’t have the last name Stark, and she has the typical lipstick she and Peggy carry.  Maria moves across the room before he can answer, opening the safe with 7-4-18 slipping out a rugler style gun, but one of Dad’s own design.  

“Yeah,” he says as she pulls up the edge of her dress until the top of her stocks show, a small holster overlays the one on her right leg.  She slides the gun in.  Mom straightens, brushing the wrinkles from the fabric before she sees his face.

Tony knows Mom enjoys these night, but he is having selfish feelings.  If he wanted to, he can tell her his stomach hurts, and she will smear this other person off her and stay.  He knows the words, wants to say the words.

But she looks so happy.  Her mouth has been pulled downwards, like by gravity all month long.  Dad has lingered closer, working shorter hours.  Tony sees the frown get deeper momentarily when she sees him, so he has been skirting around her for the last week, wanting to not being any more unhappiness into her life.

He can’t bring himself to say the words.  He just shrugs instead.  Mom starts to say, “Tony, honey, what-” when Aunt Peggy bursts into the room.  She’s dressed similarly to Mom, redheaded instead of brunette, make up causing her face look different.  Not like the aunt who sings him to sleep, voice faltering when she forgets the words, but continuing until she finishes.   She is someone else.  

She looks at the two of them before folding herself in front of Tony.  “I’ll take care of her,” Peggy whispers, like it is a secret, just between the two of them.

Tony nods before grabbing his mom around the waist.  There is a pause before her hands hesitantly curl around him.  “I love you,” he whispers into her dress.  She hears the mumbled words and pulls him back.  “You are my dearest thing in the world she says, and there are unshed tears there.  Her eyelashes are wet.  I love you passerotto[4].”

Peggy is smiling fondly at them both, and Tony rushes her too.  There are no words between them. No hesitation.  She softens to him instantly.  He lets go eventually, eyes dry.  Dad has appeared and is clutching Maria's hand like she is the only thing keeping him standing. She drops a kiss to his cheek, leaving a vibrant mark before linking her arm with Peggy, and whirling out of the room.

Dad brings a hand to his cheek but carefully does not smudge the imprint of lips on his face.  He stares after them, watching the tail lights disappear from the Malibu house before turning Tony. “Shall we wait in the study?”

Tony hesitates, waits for the look on Dad’s face, the one that has him ducking, like he is the reason for so many terrible things.  It never appears.  “Yes please,” he says, polite because that means less disappointed looks.

Dad puts a hand on top of his head until it shifts down his neck and to his shoulder.  Tony doesn’t try to lean into the touch, but he still does.  Dad takes the weight before propelling Tony forward.  He squeaks, before hurrying back to gather his homework, spare notebook, book and pencil bag.  He’s precariously balancing the pile when he pulls back up to Dad.  Dad looks funny.   His mustache hides a lot, but his lips are still bent upwards.  He’s looking at Tony like he looks at Mom or Peggy.  Soft, like he has a secret he can’t - won’t - share.

Tony tilts his head at his father, who shrugs, before laying a heavy hand on his shoulder as they stroll to the study.  Tony takes over the coffee table, homework items in a precise and small area of the table while he pours over them from his place on the floor.  Dad takes a seat on the couch, feet propped on the table as he peruses a file, making odd notations in the sides of the paper.  They stay like that for a while, quiet mutterings breaking the silence here and there.

When the phone rings sharply, they both jump.  Tony’s eyes swing to his Dad immediately, catching how his hand shakes when he picks up the phone.  The sharpness in his eyes at the frantic voice on the other end, the way his skin goes from a healthy tan to pale.  He puts the phone down and turns to Tony immediately.  “Take your homework upstairs and stay there.”

“But,” Tony’s protests die on his tongue at his father’s familiar stormy expression.  He bends back down, gathering his items again.  He hurries up the stairs, leaving his father watching out the window, fingers curled around the drapes tight enough that they are white. 

Tony puts his things at his desk and settles into the corner at the top of the stairs where he can hide.  He discovered this months ago, watching a party downstairs, his father with high red in his cheeks, a drink in hand, laughing with others.  His mother dances her way around the room, bright and cheerful, looking for Howard every moment she has a beat.  He doesn’t look for her always, and her face falls in increments.  One by one, until the devastation is written in her eyes, for all the world to see, if they only knew how to read.

Dad rushes into the room, opening the door as Jarvis carries in Mom, Peggy at his heels. Tony can’t see at first, but it becomes all too apparent what has happened when Jarvis turns, and he catches sight of the red that has blossomed across the lower torso of her dress.  It’s a vivid red, bright against the white of her dress.  

Tony doesn’t follow them as they rush into the study, he stares at the pattern of the blood that has dripped on the floor.  Studies the pattern of his mother’s blood decorating the entry way.  The way it drip drops like path behind Jarvis.  Some are smeared by Peggy’s footprints, trailing behind them.  Howard had stayed ahead.  

That’s his mother’s blood drying on the wood floors, and all Tony can think is he should help clean that up.  He slides down the steps, one by one.  Jarvis rushes out of the room, feet thudding against the floor, down a hall and out of view.  Tony makes it down the stairs, standing lost in the middle of the entry way.  He waits there for a moment, listens to the low tones before heading to the entry bathroom and grabs the plush hand towel.  Ana would yell at him for using this towel, but Tony thinks he can be forgiven this time.  

He goes back into the entryway, gets on his hand and knees and starts wiping up the blood with the towel.  It smears with the first wipe and Tony remembers Jarvis’ faint tones telling him to use more effort.  He rubs harder until it’s fainter, slips up on the wood to the next dot, and begins cleaning that.  

He continues on that for a while almost all the way to door of the study, when he sees feet in front of him.  Tony looks up and sees Jarvis bent low, face lined but kind.  “Master Tony,” he resolutely states.  “I need you to go upstairs right now.”

Tony wants to say something, but there aren’t any words in him in this moment.  He can’t find enough air to open his mouth and ask.  There are tears burning at the back of his eyes, and he knows he shouldn’t let them show, but some must because Jarvis puts a hand on his arm, a steady, warm weight.  “Madam will be okay.  She just needs some time to rest.”  He squeezes Tony’s arm briefly.  “Now go upstairs.”

Tony knows he’s lying, but he’s not willing to call him on it.  Silently, he hands the towel to Jarvis before moving upstairs, body moving without his own consent.  Jarvis watches him for a moment, before heading down the hall.  

Older Tony, the Tony watching the memory, breaks away from his younger counterpart.  He takes a few steps before turning back and catches sight of his younger self clutching the banister at the top of the stairs, face cast in darkness, shaking like a leaf about to flutter off a tree in the middle of fall.  For the first time, he follows the group into the study.  

Mom is lying across the couch, stomach and hips bared while Jarvis avoids them with surprising delicacy.  Peggy is leaning across Mom, pulling out surgical items from a kit, dousing them with alcohol before lying them on a towel.  

Howard...Howard is bent over Maria.  He has aged ten years in the last twenty minutes.  “Darling,” he murmurs, before pressing his nose into her hair, his mouth to her ear.  He is whispering things to her, secrets to the universe, sweet nothings, ramblings of a mad man, Tony doesn’t know.  He just sees an unraveling of his father as he comes apart at the seams and tries the hardest to keep it from showing.  Mom’s face alternates from laughter, to something soft to striken by pain second by second.   The devastation of his parents in front of him lays before him, and Tony is breathless.

“Oh Howard,” Mom says, like there is a laugh caught in her throat.  “I guess we won’t have any more worries about miscarriages.”  Dad clutches her hand, looking like someone has shot him instead of her.

“Maria, darling,” he leans close to her.  His fading hair touching hers.  “Maria please.”

Peggy is wrapping the wound, tight by the way Mom grimaces.  “Don’t you dare soldier,” she says around the bandage in her hand.  Jarvis lingers in the corner of the room, ready to run if someone asks him to.  “Don’t you dare start that talk.”

Mom ignores the words.  “Where is my passerotto?  Where is my baby boy?”  She calls for him.  “Tony?  TONY!”

Jarvis is at the door and shakes his head when Tony peeks around the corner of the doorway, older Tony can see now.  There is fear written in the hidden parts of everyone’s faces.  Howard puts himself in front of the worst of the bloodstains, hiding it from anyone who comes in the doorway.  Peggy has a grim sort of determination as she hands the bottle of alcohol to Howard.  “We don’t want to show Tony this part dear.”  She digs in with the forceps, grasping for the bullet.  

Mom howls, and Tony remembers this exact moment in vivid colors.  Remembers the nightmares after.  Her pale face, Dad close at hand when she needed him.  The distance for a while, filled by an overly bright Ana and attentive Jarvis until they came rushing back in a week later, clutching and reassuring him.  

He remembers this and doesn’t want to.  Doesn’t want to be here.  There is a scream building in his own throat, wordless and frightened, like he was when he was eight and peeking around the corner of the room when Jarvis was distracted by his own grief and guilt at the scene.  He remembers seeing his mother convulse, his father look like he is going to shatter apart at any moment, and Peggy trying to keep it all together.  “FRIDAY,” he whispers among the screams, murmured words, and building horror.  

He closes his eyes, waits for the silence, history still echoing in his head, before opening them again.  There is nothing in this room, that suddenly feels too small, too strange.  Tony throws off the glasses and earbuds, and takes to wandering out to the balcony, hidden in shadows even in the moonlight.  

Steve’s out on the terrace below, shoulders bent sketching something.  His hair is unkept, wet probably, just finished from a run.  The silver of the moonlight makes it almost white, and for a moment, Tony can see Steve older, wrinkled and hunched with age.  Tony can’t see who else is there in this image, just that there is movement out of the corner of his eyes.  He blinks and the image disappears.

Tony leans against the balconies frame, observing as Steve stays hunched, arm working double time as he sketches furiously at the page.  He doesn’t have the glasses, and Tony’s eyesight isn’t good enough to catch it in the dark, but he’s not sure he wants to see the image based on how he seems to be digging into the paper..  Tony isn’t sure about a lot of things that deal with Steve these days.

Steve suddenly drops the pencil and the pad and sinks his head into his hands.  He runs both hands through his hair before he stands up, pacing the garden.  Tony feels his shoulders tighten, and takes in a few breaths, deep enough to feel his lungs press against his ribs, until they fall back down, a straight line.  Tony stays there, silent and watches as Steve runs a lap or two around the terrace, muscles pumping as he moves.  He does five laps, ten laps, fifty laps, in the silence of the garden.  No birds make noise.  Nothing makes a sound.  It’s like they know this is a sacred moment.  

Finally Steve stops, panting and dark spots showing on his light shirt. He leans against the iron railing, taking big gasping breaths.  When he’s calmed, he pulls a small flip phone out of his pocket, a mirror to the one Tony has stashed in a drawer somewhere in the Avengers Compound.   He opens and types one handed something.  There is a pause before he presses a button, then types something else and snaps the phone closed.  

Tony closes his eyes against the two beeps his StarkPhone gives off in the room before turning back in.  

(He misses Steve’s eyes on the balcony, frozen in his spot from where he sees the line of Tony’s back disappearing.)

 

From 54985-466-8653

You’re a good man Tony

From 54985-466-8653

Better than me

 

Natasha ghosts into the room Tony has spent the last couple of days as Tony finishes packing up.  He’s missed her a few times, carefully putting T’Challa between him and most of the world when he can.  She’s noticed, Tony knows.  Her gaze is heavy, filled with too many things she will never say.

Sly smiles, biting words, gestures.  The moments between, the words unspoken. That’s how he and Natasha work, Tony realized after the Manhattan incident when she had raised an eyebrow at him across the table, food strewn across them, and he found himself offering the remains of his tower to anyone who needed a place to stay.  Tony’s gotten to rely on her knowing him better than he knows himself, so she can pick up on the things he wants - needs -  _ can’t  _ say.  

It also means he can’t keep the wool over her eyes.  Not long enough.

“Hello,” he greets with a grin.  His phone is buzzing on the table. He can see the tiny image that identifies the call as from Peter, duck face with Tony’s red sunglasses selfie style.  He slides it into his pocket, but Tony knows Natasha’s already seen it.

Natasha is always graceful, moves with an effortlessness that makes everything she does seem easy, even when Tony knows it isn’t.  She sits lightly on the overstuffed armchair in the corner of the room.  She isn’t wearing her suit, but Tony is carefully aware of just how deadly she is, even without the tech.  “Don’t be you,” she replies as she leans forward, elbows on her knees.

She dresses in color here. Vibrant reds, bold blues, beiges.  She would chide him if he pointed it out.  Saying it was blending in.  Her hair is pulled into a tight braid, the brightness darker than the last time he saw her, closer to the shade she had when we first met her.  Blending in.

Tony shrugs as he locks down the case.  “I don’t know anyone else to be.”

“You know what I mean,” she responds.  Her tone is even, but the way she holds herself, like she is here for the long haul, ready to sprint to the door to keep him there if he makes a break for it - or the window - that gives her away.  Maybe he knows her too well if he can finally start seeing her tells.  

Tony’s lips tighten.  “I know.”

Bright laughter flutters in from outside.  Tony remembers the last time, the last exact moment he heard laughter like that.  He aches suddenly.  The distance between before and now seems as far as New York is to Wakanda.

“Once,” Natasha says, watching Sam soar outside the window.  “When I was a young girl, I just to dream of something like this.  Bright and cheerful,  _ free _ .  I dreamed of a city where I could be who I wanted, explored who I could be.”  She turns back to him, eyes still filled with so many things that Tony can’t even begin to understand.  Maybe he doesn’t know her as well as he thinks, and that lands heavily in his gut.  “I realized that was a dream and dreams were a lie.”

Tony smiles, bitterly.  “All I have are dreams.”

“Don’t get caught in them,” she warns, hands tight on the chair.  

“Says the spider to the fly,” Tony jokes, but nothing in Natasha’s face changes.  She keeps her eyes on him.  

Tony picks up the case and holds onto it like it’s a lifeline.  “Any other words of wisdom Miss Muffet?”

She straightens, and the look on her face is wondrous.  “You’ve always known, haven’t you?” Natasha breathes, like it’s a giant exhale.  Like she’s put in the final piece of a puzzle and can see the big picture.  

“Yeah,” Tony agrees softly.  “I figured it out a while back.”

“How long ago did you plan it out?” Nothing about her is sharp any more.  It’s her soft face.  Her Clint face.  The skype calls, the posture she brings back from mysterious disappearances that Tony doesn’t have the heart to bring up.  Probably never will.

Tony smiles.  “I won’t give away all my secrets.”  

“Tony,” she says.  The tone holds everything in it. Tony’s eyes list to the window, where Sam dives and rolls, Red Wing keeping close.  Red wisp encased rocks fly by him, changing his path, and he laughs loudly again, challenge issue lost to the wind.

“There’s a saying,” Tony responds at the end of an exhale, half out of air before he can begin. “Dad used to say it to me.  ‘Even family will stab you in the back when they think it will help you.’”  Natasha considers him carefully.  “I know he said it because of something with Aunt Peg.  They didn’t talk in the years before his death.  Not the way they used to.  It was biting.  Angry.  I always wondered what could split up the wonder team people used to whisper about.”  

He watches her face this time - the way she stills utterly.  “You know now.” she says.

“I know now.  I also think I understand him a bit more.  He loved her, but his pride wouldn’t let him let it go.  She wasn’t good at losing people.  Grief made her sharp on both ends, and by that point, she had lost too much.”  

Tony smiles humorlessly.  “I’ve always been called the second coming of Howard Stark.”

“I’m not Peggy Carter,” Natasha pushes back.  “Russians don’t have that many emotions.”

Tony steps around the bed he has left between them, the noise outside the window is getting louder.  He comes close to her, watching her categorize his movements.  He bends down and rests his hand on her shoulder, for a moment, two, three, four, before pulling back. “I think you feel more than you let on.  Take care Nat.”

He takes a few steps before throwing, “ заботиться о нашей семье [5],” over his shoulder. 

She doesn’t say anything back, but the fact she is still sitting the chair when he glances back, half a second before he calls the armor, says enough.

 

From  _ spiderboy _

Tooooooony

From  _ spiderboy _

Answer meeeeee

From  _ spiderboy _

I am more important than the old folks home you are in right now

From  _ Tony _

Peter don’t we have an understanding about calling me old?

From  _ spiderboy _

Don’t?    


From  _ spiderboy _

And I wasn’t :D

From  _ spiderboy _

I was calling the~others~ old

From  _ Tony _

Nice try.  What’s up

From  _ spiderboy _

Rhodey says training session when you get back

From  _ Tony _

Anything else?

From  _ spiderboy _

Nope.

From  _ Tony _

You could have just texted me to begin with

From  _ spiderboy _

Just wanted to say hi.

From  _ spiderboy _

Hi

From  _ Tony _

Hi back kid.

 

“Hi buddy,” Tony whispers in the middle of a server farm in Oslo.  

The voice is raspy, and Tony knows that is a choice he never coded.  “Hello sir.  It’s good to hear from you,” JARVIS voices over the communicator’s private channel.  “I’ve been a bit busy or I would have contacted you sooner.”

“You’re forgiven kiddo,” Tony says, heart light for the first time in days.  The red at the edge of his vision lessens just as he realizes it’s there.  His fingers pause on the keyboard for a moment, before closing up the command prompt and handing it back over to the bewildered scientists.  “Thanks for the test drive.  Everything looks good.  Continue on,” he waves, the clear plastic in his hand faintly glows orange before he slides it into his inside jacket pocket.  The plastic is warm next to the reactor.  

“What have you got J?” he asks when he is clear of the room.  

“You’re not going to like the idea,” JARVIS responds.  

Tony gets in the helicopter, waving at his pilot as he takes a seat.  “I’ll like anything you have to say since you’re here and talking and not dead kiddo.”

JARVIS is right.  He doesn’t like it.  But it’s the only thing they can do, so he goes along with the plan.

(He doesn’t think about it during the coding, the frantic ripping apart of JARVIS, melding him with a new framework, a new set of parameters, watching JARVIS help destroy himself in the moment.  Take apart the weighted matrix that determines his thoughts, his reactions.  It’s adapted from the initial engine Tony doodled out on a whiteboard, pen lid in his mouth.  JARVIS makes changes to the engine now, tries to drill in a safety protocols, minute understandings it took him year to figure out.  Trying to give this new being the best chance they can have.  Be a better version of him.  

“A new iteration,” JARVIS whispers in his ear.  “Continuous improvement.”  Tony had laughed, aching too much not to.  

It’s after, when everything is over, and he sits in the destroyed common room, watching the strange orange glow from the distance, straight vodka in hand, because no one can know if he is drinking water from a distance, that he feels as if he shredded himself.  Mourns the loss silently, alcohol numbing but not lessening the sting.  He half wishes Steve had stopped him.

“Hey,” the devil himself says at his shoulder.  “This seat taken?”

Tony gestures to the chair with his glass.  “Free world Captain.  Almost wasn’t, but yippee we saved the day.”  He finishes the glass and contemplates reaching for another bottle.

Steve slides into his view, albeit blurry view, and says, “I think we should talk.  Clear the air.”  He’s spreading his hands across the bar, and Tony grabs the vodka.  Cap catches the move, but doesn’t say anything.  

“I really think we shouldn’t.”  Tony pours a few fingers, feels the loosening of his jaw, but doesn’t add anything else besides, “Mourning the dead.  178 people died today.”

“Jarvis didn’t?” Steve says in a voice so heartbroken; Tony thinks of the call to Peggy ages ago.  The heartbreak in the exact same places of the tone.  

“No,” Tony takes a sip.  “He didn’t.”

Steve sits there for a moment, before he reaches over and grabs a beer from behind the bar.  He pulls off the top, and Tony knows it’s not a twist top, but the gag never really gets old. He holds it out Tony. “To the ones we lost,” Steve offers.

He holds Tony’s gaze, steady.  “To JARVIS,” Tony replies.  “The youngest of all my children.”  The glasses clink, and they both take a sip, watching Wanda and Vision as they discuss something on the couch.  

Tony finishes his glass and gets another one.  If he moves too fast, the room will definitely move with him, but Tony’s holding himself pretty carefully anyways.  Broken ribs tend to hurt like a bitch, especially when you don’t take any pain meds.  Steve continues nursing his drink in silence, watching the room as the others come and go until it’s just them there.

“You know,” Steve finally says.  “You gained a new child today too.”

Tony’s eyes slide past him. “Maybe.  I don’t think he likes me too much.”

“You can’t take one day to mean any of that,” Steve offers.

The glass is empty again, and he takes the bottle of water Steve offers him.  “I’m pretty sure none of you like me right now, but that’s okay.  I made a killer robot from the program I was hoping to create to save the world and my relationship with my girlfriend, but these things happen when your name is Tony Stark.”

“You keep trying to take humans out of the equation, like we can’t help.  What makes you so sure you don’t need them?”

“People are the problem, Tony argues.  Global warming is because of the pollution we won’t stop making.  Companies are run by people who want to make more money no matter what the cost.  Most of our adversaries?  Human.  They’ve been twisted by their greed and sins that they have become these new versions of themselves that try to destroy everything that is good in the world.  

“Men can be good,”  Steve retorts.  “You don’t give them enough credit.  You don’t give us enough credit.”

“Excuse me if I don’t believe in men,” Tony counters.  “But I haven’t seen men be good and stay good.  I’ve seen good men die for stupid reasons.  I’ve seen their cruelty first hand.  I don’t trust them.”

“What about us?” Steve asks, he gestures with his beer bottle to the room around them, to the Tower.  “What about Clint who is trying to keep this world safe for his family, for Nat?  What about Bruce who tries so hard to control the uncontrollable? What about Natasha who wants to be good so badly?”  He leans closer, half resting against the wet bar like Tony is, barely enough space between them.  “What about me?  What about you?”

“I’m tired,” Tony says, honest enough that it hurts to admit.  “I’m tried of fighting.  I’m tired of seeing the worst in people, but that’s all there is.”

“There’s more in you than what your worst says,” Steve says, fingers curled around Tony’s free hand between them.  “I’ll be here to remind you of that.”  

Tony smiles, mirthless. “Then what am I here for?”

“To remind me I’m good too.”  Steve replies, too serious to not mean it.  

Tony laughs and reaches for the vodka, but Steve’s got his hand.  “You can let go Cap,” he teases, feeling a bit lightheaded.  Something inside him throbs, sticks in his ribcage until it aches a sweet pleasure pain. 

“Promise me,” Steve resolutely says, shifting further into Tony’s personal space.  “Promise me you’ll remind me too.”

He stays there, too close and Tony feels too hot.  Feels like there is too much going on inside of his skin, clawing it’s way out.  His fingers are gripping Tony’s a smidge too tight, but Tony like the idea of the fingers imprinted on his skin more than he wants to admit.

“Okay,” Tony murmurs, feeling as if something in him deflates when he says it.  “Yes. Okay. Whatever you say Cap.”

Steve leans back, smile triumphant.  Tony shakes his sleeve down his wrist until it hides it.  Steve’s eyes flicker to the corner, like he catches the motion, but doesn’t say anything.  Tony doesn’t reach for another drink, just sits there and gazes out at the skyline, stars peeking between skyscrapers.  Steve stays there by his side.   
  
“I’ve got your back,” Steve whispers, a while later, when Tony makes his excuses to leave.  He doesn’t touch Tony again, but his eyes are dark and full of some unspoken promises.  Tony just nods and flees the room. )

 

 

Reply to 54985-466-8653

Every good man has a selfish day

Reply to 54985-466-8653

You’re a good man. A better friend, but a decent man too.

Draft reply to 54985-466-8653

Consider us even, finally, Steve.

Draft reply to 54985-466-8653

We don’t owe each other anything.

Draft reply to 54985-466-8653

Leave me alone now.

Draft reply to 54985-466-8653

Please

 

“You should say goodbye,” T’Challa counsels as Tony walks with him to the balcony outside his window.

The sun is bright, and the silver gleam of Vibranium is bright in the city below.  If he had the faceplate down, Tony could make out the specifics of the architecture of the buildings.  T’Challa had commented they were thousands of years old, the castle itself was as well, with V ibranium either used as the material to construct the buildings or infused into the supplies used.  It’s stunning, the vibrancy of the city.  The look of something that has withstood the test of time and man.

The innocence of the image is something that Tony is unwilling to spoil by staying too long.

“I am,” Tony says brightly.  “To you!  Wow I feel like you have been skyping Rhodey for tips on how to how care for and handle a Tony Stark.”

T’Challa’s lips quirk before blooming into a full smile.  “Tony,” he chides, but it’s softened by the look on his face.  “They will want to say goodbye.”

Shrugging, Tony hit the button on the side of the case, so it engages with the suit so it’s a backpack of sorts.  It’ll cause issues with the wind resistance, but FRIDAY is already making adjustments.  “Nah.  I don’t need to do any of the gushy stuff.  You’re enough as is.”

There is a hand on his shoulder, the proximity alarm screams in his ear before FRIDAY shuts it off.  It’s the hand with the ring of the king, and Tony knows this means something, something big.  “If you need me, just call Tony and I will come.”

Tony waves the free arm.  “Yes, yes.  Because we are family friends now.  Blood without being blood.  Allies until death.  Our grandchildren will have to be invited to each other’s birthday parties because you decided I wasn’t the worst human being on the planet.  Thanks for the royal stamp of approval by the way.”

“If I hadn’t spent a week arguing points for the Accord amendments, I would think you are insulting me,” T’Challa responds, “But now I know this is Tony Stark trying to run away from something.”

He taps his ring finger against the suit before pulling it in a straight line.  The screech of metal on metal is brief but sharp.  The red of the suit is washed away, showing the plain metal underneath, multiple scratches about an inch and a half long.  Tony pulls his arm back.  

“Yeah,” he deflates.  “I want to get out of here before Frozen comes up to serenade me.”

There must be something in face as he watches the doors behind T’Challa, or the spot on the roof where Clint is usually lurking that gives it all up.  “Okay my friend.”   Tony squints at him and T’Challa adds, “ Labarin zuciya a tambayi fuska. [6]”

FRIDAY croons in the ear piece, “The phrase colloquially translates to one’s face shows what is in one’s heart.”

“So you’re saying my poker face sucks,” Tony rolls his eyes at T’Challa.  “Thanks honey bunches.  You say the kindest things.”  

He takes a few heavy steps backwards, and the king watches him carefully before calling, “ Don’t burn up the garden Tony.  My sister will be very displeased.”

T’Challa is grinning when Tony takes a few steps to the left after FRIDAY makes a calculation or two about the heat the repulsors give off.  The faceplate slams shut, and Tony can only see T’Challa’s grin, wide and free, so unlike anything Tony is used to, and says, open and far too honest, “If you need me, I’m a call away.”

Tony can’t hear the words returned to him, knows they are in a different language by the way his lips mouth, but FRIDAY faithfully translates them at the bottom of the screen as they burst into action, soaring over the top of the castle, fingers skimming the tiles before heading high into the sky, getting above the clouds, until the sky is only blue and white and there is no one else there but Tony and FRIDAY.

TRANSLATION: Stay well and be happy my dear friend.

 

WAKANDA MISSED CONNECTIONS on Craigslist

You’re not supposed to leave without saying goodbye  Zhelezny Drovosyek n[7].  It’s bad manners.

  * do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] (Greek) Psychopomp means “guide of souls” they are beings of some sort (depends on the religion) whose responsibility is to escort newly deceased souls to the afterlife. They exist to guide and provide safety during the passage, not judge.  
> [2] Variously spelled koushari and koshary - a nourishing vegetarian dish of rice, lentils, macaroni, garlic and chickpeas, brought together by a spicy tomato sauce and topped off with fried onion from Egypt  
> [3] (Italian) Cucciolo means “puppy,” “cub,” or any type of baby animal in general.  
> [4] (Italian) Little sparrow. Usually a term for someone learning to fly.  
> [5] (Russian) take care of our family (per Google Translate so this one is probably wrong)  
> [6] (Hausa) Literal translation of the phrase: For the news of the heart one should ask the face. (Hausa is what the official linguist said to use for now. Sounds like they may use similar phrases or put twists on them for official Wakanda dialect.)  
> [7] (Russian) There was a Russian reimagining of the Wizard of Oz in 1939 called the Wizard of the Emerald City by Alexander Volkov. The translation for the name used for Tin Man is Iron Lumberjack. Dorothy Gale was renamed Ellie Smith, which is something you will need to know for the next chapter.
> 
> I am very neutral on this chapter. There are a few moments I kind of hate, but character wise, I'm from a limited perspective. Tony doesn't get the nuances from everyone. He's only human. One day I'll explain the titles of the chapters because they really do mean something, honest. It's all coding jargon, basically steps on how to solve a problem. I'll do it on tumblr one day. Maybe. Or not. (You guys knowing my tumblr actively freaks me out.)
> 
> Again, thank you everyone for reading this so far. Comments, kudos and bookmarks are love. (Also how do you guys keep finding this story? The numbers for this thing get interesting upswings.)


	5. Interlude: Wanda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she is a patchwork girl, held together by the seams she has done herself, done by other people, by the pieces she has stolen from others

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! This will be super hard to read. It's on purpose. Wanda's a chaotic thinker and the magic made it worse. So much worse. Also she's a bit lost in her head.

There is a song in the city, sometimes it’s loud, the in your face type of loud. Sometimes it’s soft, a faint whisper in the back of her mind.  It sounds like children waking up, mothers making breakfast, grandmothers sleeping a bit longer, father’s coming back in with groceries, cousins giggling under covers.  It sounds like family.  It sounds like thousands of lives happening at the exact same time.  Wanda gets lost in the songs of Wakanda, follows their rhythm, lets it influence her until she can’t think, just flows.  She exists in this quiet song that only she can hear, drifting from one place to another so she doesn’t hear -

_ “Сестричка[1], I need you to stay safe.  Just this once.  Don’t follow me,” Pietro is desperate, tremors going down his body, like he is shaking apart from the inside out.  “I need you to stay safe.  I have to protect you.” _

_ A tight grasp of fingers, entwined like their mother always said they were, even inside of her. Sometimes people wondered where one brown headed boy began and the twin girl ended.  Sometimes she wonders the same thing,  _ Pietro is gone and she is torn in two, holding herself together with her bare hands, she can’t feel, she can’t breathe.  She is screaming, and it’s like the universe exhaled into her, and all she can feel is power, but she can’t do the one thing she wants so she will do this instead,  _ but she won’t ever have to know that because he won’t leave her.  She won’t allow it.   _

_“I’m coming with you,” she breathes out as she pulls him close.  He can’t have heard the words she whispered into the thin fabric of his shirt, into his too thin ribcage.  She knows he is too furious, too scared to do anything, better than she knows herself.  She’s always_ known herself to a degree but now...now she doesn’t know who she is anymore, there is Clint holding the body, and Wanda can’t look at it.  Can’t acknowledge what has happened.  She sits away from them, stares out the window, and retreats into her brain, locking away all the sacred things she has left of him. No one can touch these memories, behind locks and doors and all the barriers she can dream up.  No one will take him away from her again. She always _knows him better than she knows herself._

_ His free hand reaches around her, clutching her tightly, too tightly, but she doesn’t protest.  Doesn’t say anything because he needs a moment to understand.  Understand she won’t leave him, won’t let him leave her.  They will leave this world the way they came in,  _ she’s kept him safe, but Wanda’s memories from ten minutes, twenty minutes, five days ago, his smile, the confidence in his eyes, the fierceness in his voice, are rapidly fading, losing color because when she hid him from everyone else, she hid him from herself.  Wanda finds herself startlingly okay with this.  It’s one less wound to carry with her, like she has started sewing herself together, even if she is missing vital parts of herself.  She won’t fail him again, even if they won't be  _ together. _

_ “Okay,” he whispers.  “Okay.  We will do this together.”  _

\- the screams, the memories as multiple people die flashing into her brain, and she knows their past, their present, their hopes for the future, the name of their siblings, their parents, their children.  She knows each of these people intimately.  Wanda feels the gap in her being when they cease to be, like she carved out a piece of her own soul when she killed them. 

It leaves her breathless and she  _ can’t -    _

\-  _ there are fingers on her, working their way around the edge of the band of metal at her throat.  Her eyes stay focused on the small of the world.  _  “Котик [2], why are you sad?” he asks, hair white now, in the ruins of Sokovia, fingers curling around her cheek like she is the most precious thing in the universe.    _ He’s there.  He’s vibrant, joking and Gods above,  _ alive. 

_ Wanda wants to curl into these liberated memories of hers.   _ “I miss you,” she says, and it feels torn from her, like a band-aid coming off a bullet hole, gushing blood everywhere.  “I miss you every day.  From the second I wake up until I go to sleep, and I don’t know how to be without you.”  _  It’s been two years since she has seen him like this, and she can’t leave him behind, not again.   _

_ She wants to tell Clint to leave her, leave her here like he should have left her at the Compound.    _ He leans closer until their foreheads are touching.  He is warm, breathing, and she can’t find any air in her lungs, but she can’t bring herself to care.  “You were always the better one of us,” Pietro confines in her, voice amused, but serious.  “You’re going to save the world.”  _ But her throat won’t work.  _

_ She feels cold down to her bones.  _ “There is no world worth saving without you,” she cries, sob stuck in her throat.  She can’t close her eyes, she can’t forget him, not now, not again.  He can’t leave her all alone.  She just wants him back.  Maybe he can stop all the bleeding.”   _ Heavy like something is holding her down. _

“ _ Kiddo?  I need you to focus on me right now.” Clint is saying something, Wanda should pay attention but she can’t  _ “There is always a world to save,” he intones.  “You’ll see me again soon.”  He smiles, more easily than she ever will be able to, and she aches at the happiness in his face.  “Don’t worry.  Bullets can’t keep me down.”  _  “We have to get you out of here, and I need you focusing and not lost.” _

_ There the sound of a lock popping, and  _ Pietro fades, going through shades of grey until he is too light to even discern an outline of his face _.  Wanda blinks, slow and steady.  Something in Clint’s face eases at her attention to his movements.   _

_ She wants to laugh at his relief, because she is not relieved.  She is lost, alone, drifting.  There is no shore and she will never come back.  Pietro is on that shore, a tiny distant person, and her grief drains away until all she has left is anger, down to her to, filling her, warming her, expanding her,  _ “We don’t kill on these missions,” Steve says.  “Just try to incapacitate people.”  _ keeping her alive.  Instead, she slides the jacket off and stands.   _

_ There are soldiers running to them _ , “If we’re throwing them,” Wanda feel timid, small in this room with gods and men who can do more.  She is young and so very alone.  “Aren’t we potentially killing them still?” None of her threads are in this room, and she finds herself reaching out for them, for Clint’s steadiness, Vision’s brightness.  “If I throw someone with my powers, I could hit them on something, and disconnect the spinal cord or cause internal injuries with my powers. I could kill someone.”  She has killed people.  More people than she wants to think about.   _ boots heavily hitting on the floor as they rush the cell block she’s in. _

_ She gathers the power in her fingers, surging through her after the month long absence  _ Steve reaches out to her, close and fierce, “We try our best to not kill anyone.  Innocents have to be protected at all costs.  We are not murderers, and we are not soldiers.  We are better than that.”  He pauses before pulling back and the air eases around both of them.  “We have to be,” he says, sounding almost desperate.  _ and pushes.  A wave of red bursts from her, rippling and shaking, and she already knows she’s pushed too much into it, but there is that anger in her screaming that they deserve it. _

_ “No,” Steve cries from beside her, watching as they all go falling.  Three of them die instantly, but Wanda  _ Sam is watching, close, ready to reach out if he needs to, but stays for the moment.  Wanda, if she tried, could hear his thoughts, why he is so serious in this moment.  She could do the same to Steve, try to understand the urgency in his tone.  Wanda fits herself, powers and all, back into her skin, feeling so full she could burst, but in control and  _ shakes it off with ease.  There are wide eyes around her, even the Winter Soldier stands in attention, watching her too closely.  It remind her of Hydra, faintly, like most of her memories with Pietro as these says.   _

_ Wanda opens her mouth,  _ “Show me how,” she states _ , “What’s next?” _

\- she is a patchwork girl, held together by the seams she has done herself, done by other people, by the pieces she has stolen from others  _ she knows it’s wrong, she knows she shouldn’t but she needs something to put herself together.  And the voices are too loud sometimes, like a piece of thread tugging her, and she finds herself in others memories before she pulls herself out.  Sometimes she lingers a second longer to see, to understand. Sometimes the memory stick with her, even after she leaves.  She is guilty of so many things, but she isn’t sure if this is her worst mistake.   _ She needs these pieces to know what normal is.  Know how to react.  

Her powers are a sea inside of her, and Wanda desperately needs something to keep her afloat if she doesn’t want to be overpowered.  She is grappling for control, lost in the tide.  She doesn’t know  _ If you look inside of her, you would see the icy frozen gaping nothing that she screams into, but no one can hear because the ice in her lungs now, burning her voice out of her before she make a noise; neat rows of girls, moving in sync no matter the activity no spare thoughts in her head, just a blankness, routine beaten into her every limb until there was nothing left in her but the next step; loud colors and even louder laughter while her hands are shaking, fingers pressing on bruises, reminding herself she is still alive if she can feel the pain, the moment she doesn’t, she doesn’t know what to do; watching her  _ partner, brother, soul _ fall and trying to go back out, being held back, screaming, raging until there is nothing left, just a well of grief that still isn’t stopped; quiet wonder, endless confusion, hurt, faint memories of being something before, something amazing, something bigger than himself _ if she can stay ashore much longer.  

So she ties herself to the shore, to the people there, piece by piece.  She ties herself to Vision first to the stars that explode in his mind, the never ending categorization of information, the orderliness to his his brain.   _ The wonder at her, her powers, but never perusing the question of how she is who she is has her running from him every time it gets too much.   _

Others follow.  Clint with his steady presence,  _ the endless loop of his wife’s slow grin as he plays with the kids.  Nate has her brother’s name, that Clint calls him speedy, built on so many things.   Cooper is quiet, watchful, the one who handles Lila, who is loud and bouncing, so much like Clint that it hurts him to watch sometimes _ and genuine amusement at most things.  

Natasha. Steve. Sam.  All safe, steady way down.  Some have choppy waters on the surface, but they are okay. They are good.  She needs good, needs a barometer to know when she is going off the rails.  She never tells them what she has done, but Wanda is too scared of their reactions.  To her breaking apart.  To her being sensitive to their moods, to their thoughts.  To their beings.

Tony, is not one she wanted.  But he is one she is pulled to, night after night.  It’s like her mind found a companion and drug her along with it.  She doesn’t want him near her. The man who caused all of this, destroyed her family, person by person.  If she could, she would tear him apart, knows how to do it even.  But he drags in her  _ his father pressed too close to his mother, the fierce woman from Steve’s memories is aged but she is trying to save the mother’s life.  “You’re my friend right?”  The living room of the tower filled with the Avengers, half frozen smiles and hope welling in his chest, along with too much fear he pushes back _ night after a night.  

Wanda knows she isn’t a saint.  She sacrificed herself and her brother  _ “Look Pietro!  If they can create something like that, we can become something more.  Something better”  _ to Hydra.  She’s lost the plot in her life, hanging on by threads, so she lingers in Tony’s memories.  Watches.  Tries to figure him out.

_ Tony sits in the middle of the house in Malibu he never goes to any more, paler than she has ever seen him, even after 3 day jags in the lab.  The ones that have Steve lingering outside the door, watching, before he goes in.  There is a bald man standing over him.  “Oh Tony,” he taunts, and something in Tony seizes, there is a half image of the father in place of the bald man.  Obie, a stray thought of his names the man to her.  “You always knew it was going to end this way.  You alone in this big house you used to shield yourself in.” _

_ His eyes have never looked larger, Wanda thinks, watching as the strike makes its mark.  She stands in the corner of the room, and for a second, she thinks Tony sees her there, eyes connecting before sliding away again. She doesn’t know if she is relieved or not. _

_ “You always knew you were alone.  Always knew everyone would go away,” Obie clutches the glowing reactor in his hand.  It’s then that Wanda notices the gaping hole in Tony’s chest, growing ragged with every moment, blood seeping through his white shirt.  “They say we’re all stories in the end, but you’ll just be a footnote in greater men’s legends.” _

_ Tony opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out, as Obie strolls away, chuckling.  Wanda stays there, observing as the light goes out from Tony’s face, blood staining everything.   _

She watches him die thousands of times, alone, bleak pictures of how he sees his life ending.  Wanda...knows that is her fault, to a certain degree.  It settles into her, a truth that she can’ hide from or lock away.  A truth she is reminded of everyday when she stumbles into his dreams, when she catches sight of him in the lab, moving between rooms.  Of the careful distance he maintains between her and him, the people he places between them (Steve, Clint, Vision, everyone, anyone).

Slowly, but quickly, it becomes every day that she will be focusing on something else, sleeping, anything else but this, and find herself in Tony’s brain.  Whether he is working through some idea, breaking down the problem until it was something small that he could solve the issue, wondering if he should join them in the Tower, looking into research on construction materials, gauzy fabrics, wallpaper.  She’s even there for the nightmare.  Especially the nightmares.

_ Tony is under fire, yelling at JARVIS for help, and Wanda can see into his suit, can see the moment his face falls, the moment when he realizes there is no JARVIS any more, and in this dream there is no FRIDAY, there is just him, under fire from his own suits.  They are firing at him, and the tiny little power percentage is dropping down with every blast and Tony can’t stop it.  Can’t do anything but try to call Pepper one more time.  Steve another.  Rhodey is last, when the percentage drops into the thirties.   _

_ He stands there ready to die, when Wanda waves her hand to toss the robots aside, unworried about her level of strength or if the pilots will survive.  Tony’s helmet turns, but she can still see him in there.  His shock burns in her stomach.  “Hey Ironman,” she casts out.  “Need any more help?” _

_ “Yes please,” he faintly says.  The double vision continues and she can see the moment he stops trying to figure out the situation and starts shooting down the incoming suits. He shoots a missile towards the oncoming hoard, before suddenly taking into the sky.  Wanda widens her stance, steady like she wants to be and closes her eyes.  She focuses on the bolts inside the wave, trying to find every single one in the differing suits, using Tony’s memories and the way the magic pulls at her mind until she finds them all.  She snaps her eyes open and yanks, watching as they all jerk, glowing red as the various screws, nails and bolts come flying out like bullets. _

_ She sees Tony pull up short, a thousand tiny metal objects flying towards him, and Wanda pulls again, circling her hands until the metal becomes a giant ball and falls to the ground, smashing into the concrete, cracking until it nearly meets her feet, 100 yards away. _

_ The suits have fallen in disarray, and Tony flies back to her.  She has to tilt her head up to catch him.  “I thought you didn’t like me kid,” he says. _

_ Wanda watches the cloud cover instead of his double face.  It’s giving her headaches.  “I don’t,” she offers.  “And I do.  I’m figuring it out.” _

_ Tony’s eyes slide to her, taking her in.  “Yeah,” he breathes.  “I know the feeling.” _

_ She smiles to herself.  “You like me.  You just don’t want to admit it.” _

_ She doesn’t know if it’s the dream that makes him honest or the thick thread between them that let her know exactly what he is thinking or if it’s her powers.  “Yeah.  I really like you Wanda,” he replies softly.  “I just don’t think real you will ever like me.” _

_ It takes a mere though to float up to his level and pat his helmet’s cheek.  “You would be surprised Tin Man.”   _

She banishes herself from the memory after that, his wonderstruck face lingers with her, until the unveiling of the Avengers Institute and her room.  She thinks then, that he makes more sense, likes him despite herself, knows she is tethered to him, for better or worse, and is okay with it, like it somewhere deep in her soul, because is kin of her soul, he is like her, trying to forget who he is, what he has done, by being something better  - 

\- until the RAFT, and the loss of her powers, until Tony is in the building as her and  _ that rage surges back, overtaking her.  She revels in it.  The feeling, having something except the screams of the dead filling her.  She needs something in the middle, filling her, helping her keep her shape.  She uses him as a target, using all his weaknesses.  The ones he has locked away from everyone but her.  She is out of her mind, half mad, mostly mad actually, she destroys a piece of him, feels it in the stubborn thread that won’t unravel and she is glad  _ that crests and breaks when the distance is there again.  He is across the hall, sleeping, dying in familiar lonely ways.

Oh, she thinks.  _ She watches Steve murder him, again and again in that bitterly cold bunker.  Watching Tony’s efforts to resist more and more die away.  Watching as he belives he deserves it, until he doesn’t.  Until he roars back, fights back, sometimes even kills Steve himself, feels how he is hollowing himself out.  You can’t miss someone if you don’t have anything left inside of you.  They can’t hurt you any more. _  Oh _. _

It’s like something shakes free inside of her, something drains all the anger out of her, and Pietro filters back into her mind, one memory at a time,  _ he is laughing as she puts a flower crown in his hair, indulgent to the last.  _  And she is left gasping, crying, as it all breaks upon her.  Like waves throwing her back on the shore.  She doesn’t want this much pain, she doesn’t want to hold onto it again -  _ he is dead and all she can do is destroy Ultron and maybe that will make the pain stop, but it doesn’t and it’s eating away at her, and if she locks it up, maybe she will be herself again _ \- but she doesn’t lock it away.  She breathes through it, over and over again until finally - 

\- she’s herself again. Tethered, feet on the sand of the shore, laughing, interacting.  Steve’s face eases when he sees her, Sam smiles at her, T’Challa watches her less.  Wanda leans on Clint, and he wraps an arm around her.  “Hey Kid,” he says.

“Hey Clint,” she responds, her accent lingering on his name.

His smile widens, not an echo of one, a real smile.  “I missed you kid.”

“You’ve been seeing me every day for months,” she responds, but thinks she knows what he means.

He grips her a bit tighter, and the air rushes out of her before he lets go, and she can breathe again.  “You know what I mean kid.”

Pietro is there over his shoulder, smiling, and Wanda doesn’t drown under the hurt she feels at seeing him there. “Yeah,” she murmurs.  “I think I do.”

She looks around, sees the missing man, and asks, “Where’s Tony?”

Steve’s face falls again and his friend, ( _ Bucky _ Steve calls him,  _ James  _ he calls himself, looking like he is still finding pieces of himself and settling them into place like she is) straightens, letting Steve lean into him.  It’s like this a route between them, a natural thing, something she has missed, and Wanda feels her eyes narrow at that.  Natasha is watching the scene as well, carefully blank in her consideration of the two.

“He’s left,” T’Challa announces, calm as he spears a fruit.  “He’s returned to his home since his work is completed here.”

There is silence in the room, but Wanda notices Natasha doesn’t look surprised, just considering.  “Oh,” Wanda says, and it feels like all eyes come back to her.  “I wanted to apologize.”  She feels small under their gaze, like a child.  

“For what?” Steve asks, like he couldn’t believe she did anything wrong, and she wants to laugh, wants to tell him she knows.  She knows about Siberia, about what she did to Tony, but that’s not her place, and she shouldn’t have been in his mind, and Gods above, she regrets so much.  

She looks down to her oatmeal, her safe, plain oatmeal, and remembers those loud morning in the Initiative, how Tony always watched unless someone pulled him in.  “For not staying.”

It feels like Wanda has let a bomb go off, destroying the entire room.  There is devastation in the face of every person around the table, except T’Challa.  He considers her carefully, and she remembers quite suddenly, how close he and Tony have become in the recent months.   Steve lists again, lost without an anchor because James cannot even keep him afloat, face lined with old devastation, and she doesn’t have to listen in to hear the thoughts running through his head.  Sam’s carefully neutral, but he looks, he looks angry when he looks to Steve.  Wanda wonders at that.

“Maybe you can reach out to him,” T’Challa offers.  “I have a few devices you could use that would be able to get around the UN Counsels supervision.  

Wanda picks up her spoon and considers the idea in her mind.  “No,” she says, and it feels right.  “I have other ways.”  She smiles to herself as the others watch, curious.  “I’m weird, remember?”  She wiggles her fingers, and that startles out some laughter, starts some discussions. -

**\- Wanda, I’m here.  I’m here as in the figurative sense, not the one where I am sharing the same space with you, if you need me.  But still, I’m here** has been a steady mantra since she left him in the ground, tears in her eyes as she tried to sever his thread.  It hadn’t budged and instead she tried to lock it behind doors.  He spoke to her still, quiet words when she was agitated, lost, anything but steady.  She could hear it filtered through the door she had hidden him, all of them behind.  

Wanda, for the first time in months, reaches out, tentatively,  **hi** .

Vision reaches back instantly, and she has the impression of baking, coconut filling the air, white fluff, laughter echoes between them, her and him, loud and bright and most importantly,  _ happy _ . She gasps out loud, like the air has been punched out of her, at the noise.   **I’ve missed you Wanda.**

**Me too** _ , _ she sends out before she can regret it.  She sends the smell of the clear air, the sea of green in front of her, and hesitantly, the echoing emptiness between her and the rest of the world.  Vision crafts something similar to an arm on her shoulder, and Wanda leans into the feeling.   **What are you up to?**

Vision tells her.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] (Russian) Diminutive form of sister.  Basically the short form of sister, similar to “sis” in English  
> [2] (Russian) Diminutive form of cat
> 
> So yay! Have a 4K idea of all my feelings on Wanda. Basically, I love her but girl crazy, with good reason. (The next chapter is stuck, and I am about to admit that my outline is so out of control that I have no idea how much longer this will last.) Also IT IS SO NICE TO WRITE SOMEONE OTHER THAN TONY. OMG.
> 
> Comments, kudos and bookmarks are love. Thanks for reading and sorry this isn't a chapter, but I think it's something pretty neat! :)


	6. cascading failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony shrugs, flips the phone from one hand to another. “This is me happy,” he defends, feeling the rising anger in his tone. He winces at the sound. It’s sharp and rings hollow, enough that it feel obvious, like everyone knows.
> 
> “This isn’t happy Tony,” Bruce says.

From _Nat_

Tony.

_ From Tony _

Natalia.

From _Nat_

There was something off about you in Wakanda.  Even Wanda could feel it

From _Tony_

Wanda doesn’t keep track of me

From _Nat_

You would be surprised about the list of people who care about you.

From _Tony_

There is nothing to worry about, so you can tell everyone on that list to get over themselves

From _Nat_

Tony you promised you would let me in when we decided to do this team thing

From _Tony_

Nat, seriously.  Don’t worry.  I’m fine.

From _Nat_

You miss the most obvious things sometimes.  

From _Tony_

You’re not the first person to say that to me.

 

The flight back is long, only because he makes it that way.  Tony skims buildings, skirting the edge of property damage as he flies by too closely.  FRIDAY is sending off alarms every time he comes within 50 feet of an object, obnoxious and bright.  He grins to himself because he knows she’s mad at him, at the risks he is taking, and it almost feels like before.  Like when JARVIS was alive.

She must be adapting her design engine, creating her own weights to things, making them more or less relevant for various scenarios.  Tony hadn’t thought to tie down that part of her matrix.  He had thought she would never be interested in expanding beyond her initial programming. “Fry,” he says, and he always forgets how it echoes in the helmet until he speaks.  “Initiate code: J-5-D-4-0-1.”

“Initiating Boss,” she replies. 

He continues upwards past Georgia, leaning into Alabama air space before pulling back on a whim.  There are a few alerts on his screen, angry notices from various bases and airports about being in their airspace, so he climbs a bit higher, ignores the chill in the air and blasts past storms, dancing around lightning strikes.  

Tony, for the first time in a long time, feels at peace in the sky.  Like he doesn’t have to worry about the twenty games of three dimensional chess is playing and if he will make a wrong move that everything he has built will come tumbling again.  He can  _ breathe  _ without it catching in his chest,

“Oh,” she sighs after the initializing time for the piece of code over.  “Are you sure Boss?”

Tony’s grin is fierce, nearly ear to ear.  “Yeah Fry.  I am.”

“Then I am overwriting your protocols around BARF,” she chirps, perky to the last syllable.  

He would duck his head and a run his hand through his hair if he wasn’t flying across the Mason Dixon line at that moment.  “Of course you would.”

The smirk in her voice is so tangible, Tony could see it in front of him.  “Then you shouldn’t have given me free access to my codebase with the permission to be able to change and adapt whatever I wanted.”

“Nah,” Tony replies.  “I just thought you would go more world domination than mother hen with your first move.”

“Oh I’m rewriting my accesses to various networks,” she assures.  “I’m just multi-tasking.”

“There’s my girl,” Tony utters as he urges the thrusters to go just a little faster, a little further.  “Let’s go home.”

Home isn’t a word he’s used to describe the tower, not since before the disaster of the war.  Home usually means Natasha lingering on a couch, clad in sweatpants and a too large t-shirt hanging off a shoulder, book in one hand, and a knife dancing through her fingers in the other.  Bruce in the kitchen, sipping tea and working through a crossword on a glass tablet.  Steve curled up in one of the oversized armchairs, sketchpad in hand as he furiously moves his pencil. Clint sitting on the ground, resting against Natasha’s feet as he tries to beat the latest video game.  Rhodey perched on a stool in his workshop, idly playing with something as he tells a story.  Pepper curled in his bed, fingers flicking across a tablet that’s cast makes her hair more blonde than red.  

_Home_ , he thinks now, means Peter asking about something in the workshop and Bruce explaining in soft tones.  Rhodey in the kitchen, the faint whine of the exoskeleton announcing his every move.  Vision’s unsteady attempts at learning how to cook at Rhodey’s side.  T’Challa’s occasional appearance in his living room, perusing some report while sipping something warm. 

It means so many new things that he can’t help the way his heart stops at the idea of melding the two concepts together.  Having everyone around a single dining room table, watching everyone interact as he leans in the doorway as the chatter gathers loudly. 

He takes in a breath and wills the idea away.  The mix match of costumes and revealed faces disappears as Tony pushes the thrusters a bit more.

Time to get home.   

 

From _ PR Minion 1 _

Mission accomplished.

From _Tony_

All of them?

From _PR Minion 1_

Yup

From _Tony_

You’ll get a raise starting next pay cycle. 

From _PR Minion 1_

Anything else you want me to tackle?

From _Tony_

Give me a list of all the issues with the Avengers from a PR standpoint in the current news cycle, and any future problems you see, through various scenarios.  Send them to me when you have them compiled.  

From _PR Minion 1_

I asked for that

From _Tony_

:)

 

Tony’s curled around a textbook, ten and bored, doodling engines in the margins, when a hand lands solidly on his shoulder.  Javis is bent down, a curious smile on his lips.  “Master Howard would like to see you in his study.”

Tony, the small one tenses, but the older one, the one who has lived this before is crouched behind them, watching how the light refracts on his face.  There is a moment when his vision doubles and he sees a similar scene at 11, triples with 12, quadruples at 13, and continues onwards until Tony is 21, and his father is dead.   Small Tony nods, “Thank you Jarvis.”  He is severe and quiet, trying to find the lines at this age, and Tony wants to tell him, _he’s your family.  He’ll be your family for forever.  There is no line.  There is just everyone in house, and a few others outside, against the rest of the world._

He follows the path of his ten year old self, picking his way through the house, textbook clutched close to his chest.  A defense against the forever disappointed Howard.  He pushes doors open, just a bit more for his younger self to get through, makes it easier.

(Tony doesn’t think he would be that different today, with his own kid, than his father was with him growing up.  He’s quickly reaching the age his own father was when he was born.  There is a perspective here that he didn’t have.  A weariness he’s found as he’s grown.  Matured, Pepper would say, and Tony has to grin at that, has to because he’s got nothing else in him.  

He doesn’t think he could spend the time with his own child, not with everything he does.  Pepper has the company, and Tony’s...grateful he doesn’t hold that in his hands.  Grateful he can just tinker and adjust and pass it back.  Glad he doesn’t have that legacy hanging over his head.

All he’s got, all he holds in his own two hands, is Iron Man.  The Avengers…  Something aches in him, low in his back and resonates up to his shoulders and then all the way back up to his head when he thinks about it.  He doesn’t hold the Avengers any more, and he’s just Tony Stark these days.  

Whatever that means.)

The mansion is stunning, well crafted tables, modern finishings. It’s only twenty years old at this point, and constantly well cared for.  Tony doesn’t remember it in this great of detail.  The lines of the crown molding, the carefully places vases with his mother’s favorite cut flowers.  The memories that BARF brings up, the details it adds in, they are spectacular. There is a knock, and Tony neatly steps through his younger self as he misses what is going on, through the door, and there sits Howard, swimming in paperwork.  

His hair is nearly all grey at this point, mustache clearly all white.  Howard is wearing reading glasses, just before he graduates to glasses all the time soon, and he peers up at the door, face creased in confusion for a moment before he straightens and pushes some of the mess away.  “Come in,” he calls, and there is a moment where his mustache tickles upwards.  Tony stares, unfamiliar with the soft warmth in Howard’s eyes.  

The smaller version of him peers in, quiet in his survey of the room, and Tony has to marvel at how small he looks at this point.  He doesn’t really get a growth spurt until 12, and at 10 he’s barely at the height of the desk.  Howard gestures to the chair in front of the desk, and smaller Tony takes it, carefully sitting, spine straight.  The perfect picture of a Stark.

Tony watches Howard as he gets into the chair.  Something creases his forehead before it smooths away.  Howard pulls back any cheer and takes on a serious demeanour that Tony recalls too well.  He, the older one, folds himself into the companion chair in front of the desk, and sprawls out with his usual deliberate casual posture.  His foot rests on the chair his younger self sits in, ready to push him out of the way is necessary.  “You asked for me sir?” the small boy queries.  

Something in Howard’s face shifts, breaks, and Tony sees it, watches as it blossoms and dies in a second.  The complicated shift of emotions displayed baffles Tony.  He knows his father.  He knows this moment.  He knows he is here because his father is disappointed in him.  He knows.  This moment has haunted him for years.  

Something in him churns, uncontrollable and suddenly furious, like he doesn’t have control of anything, like something is shattered.  Some dam he’s kept up for years is suddenly leaking and it’s an acid, not a cancer, infecting his entire body.  Taking it over.

“Come here,” Howard says, and hesitantly the child follows.  He takes his place beside Howard.  Howard has his hands splayed out on a familiar blueprint.  A prototype of an arc reactor with some additional...items.  Tony leans closer, tracing the schematics title of SI - H - 19800519 with a finger.  “I’ve been working on something for you Tony.  One day, you’ll understand this better than me, because you’re smarter than me.  But know that this,” Howard waves his hands at the desk, the office, the mansion.  “All of this is for you one day.  I want to leave you in a better world.”

The kid watches him with huge eyes, wide eyed wonder, but Tony scoffs as he walks around the desk, and Howard catches his eye.  The old man’s face slackens and his eyes widen.  “You have no idea what you leave me old man.  You leave me a legacy filled with death and destruction when I am a kid, and you expect me to be grateful for how that fucked me over?  For how it warped me into this paranoid man who expects the next partner to screw me over?”  Tony shakes his head and laughs, bitter, broken.  “Fuck you and your trips to find Captain America.  Fuck you and your high and mighty Stark Industries.  I get us in the black.  I make the company stable.  You build a house on a rickety foundation that I had to strip to the ground to make better.”

“FRIDAY,” he calls, looking up at the ceiling.  “Kill the simulation.”

The room dims, and Howard’s half standing figure is the last thing that fades away until he’s alone in his empty lab.  

“Any anomalies Fry?” He asks as he pulls out the headphones he’s been using with triggering a BARF session.  

There is pause, before she responds.  Probably calculating data, Tony shrugs as he flops in a chair.  “Your heart rate slowed drastically and the oxygenation of your blood decreased below safe level at the end of the session, but that was one of your better ones.”

Tony shrugs, feeling the sudden anger that overtook him in the memory bleed out as he stares at the nearest screen.  “Look up a schematic in the SI database made by Howard.  It would be from the 1980 May ish time frame.”

“I’ll find it Boss,” she hums.  Tony nods before straightening and taking a look at the papers in front of him.  The mess of the BARF research FRIDAY has been pulling together.  He looks at them for a long moment before sliding them aside and opening up the BLACK KNIGHT file.   

He’ll look at the research later.  

  
Mr. Stark, 

We would like to have a representative of the Avengers at the next UN meeting on the 23rd when we announce the changes to the Sokovia Accords.  As the main PR representative of the Avengers, we would recommend that you be the representative.  Please contact your liaison with any necessary accommodation requirements for this representative. 

Thank you, 

Alys  Müller

United Nation Ambassador, Germany

  
Bruce is sitting in the lab, book in hand, when Tony lands.  He turns the page, finishing his chapter as the suit disperses, flying into the empty case of Tony’s suits.  Tony picks up the case and put it on the table, opening it up to put away the various pieces.  He places the tablet on the top of the table, watching as the sensor picks it up and starts downloading the data and filing away the data to the correct serves and security locks.

The sound of a book being closed with a solid thud has Tony looking upwards, and he catches Bruce’s steady gaze.  They stay there for a moment, like that.  Bruce is looking for something, anything to give away how it all went, Tony knows.  Knows he is trying to read between the lines of who Tony is now, but Tony isn’t sure he can, after all this time.  If Bruce has gotten good enough to split him open and read him from the inside out.

He’s locked down the worst of his tells since Ultron, knew he had to.  Knew he couldn’t be a bleeding out in every conversation he had with the others, letting them know exactly how much he ached deep within.  Knew he couldn’t show a weakness when the others still seethed.  

_ Don’t let others know your weaknesses _ , floats faintly from his memories in Aunt Peggy’s sure voice.   _ Let them know what you want them to know.  You never know what someone will use against you in your weakest moment. _

“How did it go?” Bruce finally asks, giving into the moment.  His brows furrow slightly, and Tony rocks back on his heels, using the momentum to disguise how he clenches onto the table before letting go.

“Good,” he shrugs, making sure to maintain a grin.  “I woke Sleeping Beauty, said hi to a few friends and jetted back here as soon as everything was settled.”

Bruce hums.  “How are the others?”

“Fine,” Tony replies, picking up his phone.  “Tan.”

“Fine,” Bruce repeats, and his tone sounds as dry as a desert.  “Fine can mean many things.”

Something bubbles under Tony’s skin, and there is a dull roar in his ear drums.  His patience, pulled tight and thread worn snaps under the steady inquisition.  “Natasha looks good,” Tony bites back, and immediately regrets it when Bruce flinches.  

It lays there between them for a while.  The silence like a gaping chasm, growing with every second.  Tony can’t find anything to bridge it, so leave it alone, and waits for Bruce to make a move.  

Bruce takes in a deep, steadying breath before he stands.  Quiet in his perusal of the room, takes a few steps until he is standing behind the chair he had been sitting in moments ago.  Tony, nervous for more reasons than he can even think of, grabs his phone to have something in his hands.

“I wonder sometimes,” Bruce says, soft, like it’s a secret. “If you’ll ever let yourself be happy.”

Tony rotates the phone in one hand, fingers sliding from corner to corner as he contemplates the glowing screen of the tablet in front of him.  He reads every word carefully, every phrase.  He doesn’t think he comprehends anything on the screen.  Finally, Tony looks back to Bruce.  “I think I’m happy.”

Bruce looks rumpled and creased.  He leans, half hanging over a chair.  “Tony,” he replies, measured.

Tony shrugs, flips the phone from one hand to another.  “This is me happy,” he defends, feeling the rising anger in his tone.  He winces at the sound.  It’s sharp and rings hollow, enough that it feel obvious, like everyone knows.

“This isn’t happy Tony,” Bruce says. 

Tony knows the words, feels them slide off him.  Like it’s nothing.  “What have I got to be sad about?  I’ve got a multimillion dollar company, a team of superheroes and a clean conscience, finally,” Tony begins rotating the phone again. He tries to grin and feels it fall off before it even has a chance to begin. It’s like he can’t muster enough in him to make it work, make it be more than a grimace.

Bruce stays there, watching.  “You don’t have to save us all you know, right?”  His voice is loud in the room, even though it’s close to a whisper.  “You don’t have to save the world.  You just need to save yourself.”

Tony is empty and tired down to his bones, so he’s too honest, more honest than he has been in a while.  “I don’t know how to save myself,” he admits, looking down to his hands, to the edges of the phone, scratched and dinged.  To the thing he built himself, curious, to see if he could.  He traces his last name in the logo.  Wonders what Dad would have thought.  What Mom would have thought.  What everyone would have thought seeing him here like this.

If he listens closely enough, the air conditioning sounds like their voices, like they are there, just out of sight.  Like they live with him, existing because of who he is, still there to remind him who to be, how to be.   Tony feels exhausted, tired, at the edge of a precipice.  At the end of something.  

“Well,” Bruce says, and Tony looks up, wants to hear the answer, wants this to  _ stop _ finally.  Wants to be okay.  Wants something more than this.  “Good thing you have us to save you.”

Tony smiles, the tiniest flame of something flickering in him.  Bruce reaches over, and Tony takes his hand, allowing himself to take the comfort given, lean into the moment.  Trust Bruce has his back.  

He breathes out into that, he  _ trusts _ Bruce.  It rings true.

“Guess I’ll just have to trust your judgement huh?” Tony utters.  He’s serious, almost tense with the moment.  

Bruce squeezes his hand, and it’s like he drains everything from Tony with that one move.  “I’ve got you.”

There is a smile on his face, small and fierce.  “Yeah,” Tony returns.  “I know.”

 

From _Pepper_

I know you’re home.

From _Tony_

Yeah, when do you need me?

From _Pepper_

Board's calmed down.  Don't worry.  I've got this.  

From  _Pepper_

Focus on Rhodey

From _Tony_

Are you sure?

From _Pepper_

Yeah Tony.  :)

From _Tony_

Okay

 

Tony sits in the corner of the cozy living room, the fire crackling quietly as the inhabitants laugh and joke.  The under 15 contingent are engaged in a thrilling game of monopoly, and Tony’s 90% sure Dum Dum Dugan’s grand kid is going to take the title of 1988 Christmas Eve monopoly champion.  

He watches the younger ones, crawling.  Little Sharon playing at Daniel’s feet.  She yawns and almost topples over, but Daniel pushes her back upwards with his prosthetic foot.  The unmarked metal gleams as his pant leg rides up, and Tony keeps a close eye on how it moves and Daniel’s face.  

Rambunctious laughter breaks the lull in the room, and Tony sees the old Howling Commandos telling stories, fond remembrance in their faces, and Tony would usually be right there, egging them on for the old favorites and the stories from the front when they were under Captain America’s command, but tonight he sits back and observes the room with unusual silence.  

The gap of his mother at the piano, Peggy laughing with her as they muddled through some carol, and his father, right there in the middle of the Commandos, teasing each of them easily with some old story he was sworn to never tell with their wives right there but never going into the real details still lingers.  They’ve lost more people in this group every year, and Tony has to wonder who will or won’t be here next year.  

He wonders if he’ll be here next year, sitting in the middle of the Monopoly game, giving tips to the weakest players, or right next to the older men he grew up knowing, but feels distant from.  

“What are you doing here hiding?” Peggy asks, right in his ear. He looks up, and there she is leaning against the giant wingback chair, grey beginning to dust her hair, eggnog in hand.

Something in Tony loosens, quietly.  He smiles back and swirls the eggnog in his glass, a bit more spiked than anyone else’s like it’s a fine scotch.  

“Watching,” he shrugs.  He keeps his voice quiet, like he’s scared to disturb the environment around them.  

Aunt Peggy smiles, soft, before pulling another chair close and sitting down.  She’s right there, at his side.  Too close, but just far enough.  

“You know Sharon is so close to walking now that Daniel and I despair a little more each day about all the trouble she is going to get into when she is older.  She is a whirlwind of trouble, just like her father,” she begins, and Tony follows her gaze back to Daniel and Sharon, now in Daniel’s lap. She sweetly is dozing against his chest, and Daniel stares down at her like she is the end of the world.

Peggy narrates various stories from the last four months, tone soft and easy.  And Tony falls into it, the cadence and the ease of the moment.  Listens and makes the appropriate noises until she pauses for a moment, and takes a sip of her eggnog. 

“There was a chance,” Tony finally says.  “There was a chance I could have been a father, and I wanted to ask Mom what she thought, and then I remembered I didn’t have that luxury any more.”

“Oh Tony,” Peggy says as she pushes a strand of his hair back, leaving it to curl around his ear. 

“Why did you never have kids?” he asks.  He immediately looks down.  There is a moment of silence before Peggy grabs his hand and holds onto it.

“I tried,” she starts. Her words are measured.  Careful.  “Daniel and I thought maybe we should.  We were excited.  Then nothing happened for a long time.”

Her nails bite into his hand when she pauses.  Tony looks up, and there is an honest sort of emotion there.  Nothing special.  Nothing extra.  Just something accepted in time.

“I was pregnant once.  We had just hit the twenty week mark when -” she pauses, and there is a gaping hole opening up in her as Tony watches the years well up.  Something that makes even him ache low in his abdomen.  “We didn’t make it past the twentieth week.”  

There are words you can say in this moment.  Words that you should say in this moment, but Tony doesn’t know any of them.  Can’t think of a single thing to say.  He just clutches onto her hand the best he can, trying to remind her that he’s here. 

“I decided I couldn't do it again after that I didn’t want to try any more.  If something happened,” she shrugs. The easy acceptance is back in her face, in her tone.  The grief carefully walled away. “It happens.  I was tired of trying to make the world bend to meet me instead of accepting what I was given.”

Peggy turns back to him.  Warmth is in her eyes and the curve of her lips.  “When your mother told Howard she was pregnant, his first phone call was to me, asking me if I could make sure you were raised right.  Knew how to throw a punch and take care of anyone in case you needed to be safe.  If I would be your godmother because he needed someone to balance out the influence of the Jarvis' and the Starks.”

“I’ve never thought of myself as a woman without biological children.  Not when I had you and Michael.  Now Sharon.  I just got gifted with children at the right time because I wasn’t ready then.  I am now.”

Tony clings to her hand, and watches as Daniel meets his gaze across the room, like he knows what is going on.  He smiles, worn and weathered but ultimately the same fond man who taught him how to play chess, and used to let him play under his desk when Dad brought him to the SSR, and later SHIELD headquarters.  

He wonders if Daniel considered him like a son, knows Peggy considers him close, but Daniel’s never said anything.  Just left a hand on his shoulder, warm and heavy during the funeral.  Pulled him close after they all came back to the house.  

Still does, whenever he sees Tony.  Pulls him close with surprising strength.  Tony shies away from the others, but lets Daniel and Peggy close.  

Tony wonders what it means, the way his little family works.  Wonders if he will ever have a usual one.  “I love you,” he says to Peggy when he turns.  “I never got to say that to Dad or Mom before.  But I wanted to say that to you.  Just in case.”

Peggy falters, a crack in her careful persona, and now he wonders if it’s because she knew about the Winter Soldier.  Tony, the one in the memory, wonders when this will stop poisoning his life.

“I love you too Tony.”  Her lips on his temple feels real in that moment.  Like he is really there.  Like she is too.  

BARF shuts off suddenly, and there is a sea of black instead of the warm holiday lights.  FRIDAY filters in through the headset.  “Boss, you are needed in the common area.”

Tony pushes back the goggle and sits up, feeling groggy and fuzzy around the edges.  “What’s going on FRIDAY?” 

She pauses, which is uncharacteristic, and not something Tony remembers programming, but there is a thin film over his memories.  Like he has to focus to remember.  “Based on the new parameters, I pulled you out because of the way your heart was performing under the strain of the system.”

Tony runs his hands over his beard, and sighs, “Okay girl.  Thanks for the heads up.”

He stands, and it takes a moment to have the dizziness subside.  It teases something at the back of his mind.  “How long have I been under?” he asks, and there is a silence again.  Something so uncharacteristic it feels like he should be worried, but Tony slides that thought away easily.  Almost too easily.

“Six hours, twenty four minutes and fifty seven seconds,” FRIDAY announces.  The memory, Tony knows, at most took an hour.  

He filters away the thought before heading downstairs.  There were bigger things to worry about.

 

WAKANDA MISSED CONNECTIONS on Craigslist

I know you’re old school Ellie Smith, but let me give you a hint.  If a girl doesn’t give you her number she doesn’t want to talk.  

This is me, not giving you my phone number.

  
The next time he comes down to the lab, Peter is waiting in the same chair Bruce sat in a while back.  He’s not in costume, and the jeans and hoodie make him look younger, too young to carry on his shoulders what he does.  But Tony isn’t one to tell someone they shouldn’t carry a weight they put on their back.  He tries to help lighten the load.  Give him the tools to do his job.  But doesn’t discount the responsibility Peter feels he has to take on.    His fingers dust the top of the metal counters, cool to the touch as FRIDAY dims the lights.  He can still the laughter from outside the windows, lingering.  He finds the edge of the table and grips it tightly, until it’s biting into his hand.

“It’s like you were using FRIDAY to spy on me since you shouldn’t know I got home last night.”

“It’s not like you don’t do the same with us,” Peter shrugs. It’s true. “Anyways, I wanted to say hi.”  

“Hi,” Tony echoes, faint.  “What’s up?”

Peter looks hunted, fingers curled into the wrists of his hoodie.  “I tried to ask Rhodey a question while you were gone, and he told me to ask you when you got back.”

There are a million questions this could tie to, and Tony has to carefully inhale and exhale before it replying, “Shoot kid.”

“Why did you all fight?” Peter asks before ducking his head.

Tony doesn’t do him the disservice of asking what fight he means.  He knows.  He knows the world asks the same damn question every day.  Knows he’s contemplated it from every angle before and after it all went down. 

“Because no one wanted to talk.  No one wanted to listen.  We’re selfish people Peter.  We shouldn’t be, not when the world is on the line but sometimes we’re selfish,” he says softly, feeling achingly honest the moment he utters the words.  

“But aren’t all humans selfish?” Peter presses.  “Isn't that part of the human condition?  The fact that we are fallible and broken.”

Something in his gut rolls hearing those words come from such a young face, but he has to remind himself that Peter lost his parents younger than Tony.  Knows the cruelties the world puts upon young people better than Tony does.  He’s withstood a lot of adversity to be here, sitting in front of Tony today.  Tony forgets it, from time to time, because Peter’s smile is so bright, his face so carefree usually.  

He’s better at keeping personas than Tony wants to acknowledge.  

“You’re held to a higher standard Peter, once you’re famous.  An even higher one as a hero.  Did you know that I was once deemed unacceptable for the Avengers program?” He laughs a little, and there is a faint smile on Peter’s face, like the idea is too ridiculous to comprehend. “Me, Tony Stark.”

“I wasn’t -”  Words fail him as he thinks. A good person. A good friend.  A good anything besides weapon maker for a long time.  He still isn’t he still struggles.  But he tries now. Recognized when he screws up.  “I wasn’t a good person,” he finally admits.  “I felt like a boy playing superhero most of the time in the beginning,  Trying to be better but not knowing how or who to use as a standard.”

“That is why having a team is good.  It helps with judgement calls, having someone there to balance out the pressure, the expectations.”

“But in Germany?  We all got lost.  We were all fighting for different reasons than we thought.  I thought Steve was in trouble, lost in the past.  He thought I was there to throw him in jail.  Or to to get him to sign the Accords without his consent.”

“Wasn’t that why we were there?”

“Yeah,” Tony sighs, heavy with guilt.  “But I was also there to make sure he was okay.  That there hadn't been a weird case of brain washing.”  He offers a smile to Peter before looking back out the window and adding, “I was there as his friend first and foremost.”

“I think he lost sight of that,” Peter offers into the silence.  Tony looks back at him, and Peter’s face is open and honest.  “We all lose sight of the common sense things when we are angry.”  The kid shrugs, uncomfortable with the attention Tony is giving him, Tony knows. “I know I do.”

Tony smiles, a small twitch of the lips.  “We have to own our failings.”  The grin widens, a little less honest.  A little more like a shield.  “We all know about my ego.”

He eases into a chair and puts his feet up on the table as he leans back, nonchalant and cocky.  The old pose that he slips into feels off.  Like a shirt a size too small.  It fits, a bit too smug, and he can’t raise his arms high enough, but it’s an irritation at the back of his mind, a slow annoyance.  Peter watches the transformation with narrowed eyes before stepping over until he leans against the table, barely enough Tony’s socked feet and Peter’s body for light to pass through.  Arms crossed Peter adds, “You focus too much on everyone else and not yourself.  You miss steps when explaining because it’s hard to talk through the steps in between.  Gwen had the same problem.”

His face falls after he says her name, and Tony knows about the moment, about what happened.  He’s watched Peter shut down after mentioning her to Bruce before. So he dug and found the footage of the accident, from the funeral and the lurking Peter on the fringe.  The familiar path the kid beats past her parents house once every few weeks.

Tony knows the well worn grief on his face all too well, knows he sees it in the mirror every day.  Has for a while, just watched it deepen after every battle, after every name JARVIS, now FRIDAY, adds to the list from before the Avengers days, from before the  Iron Man days.  Knows he pushes it down when he sees Rhodey struggle.  Tony knows this soul wrenching guilt better than everyone, how knows it eats at you, destroys you piece by piece until there is only an empty husk left that you try to fill with various things - good deeds, philanthropy, sarcasm, alcohol.  He also knows he won’t let it eat Peter whole.

He nudges the kid with his left foot.  A poke, no reaction, then a rapid fire of 3, which has Peter pushing back at his foot, a mild frown twisting from the sharp edged grief.  Tony pokes him again, jabbing at his side, a known weakness that has Peter dancing away.  Tony watches as Peter eyes him before settling back.  He strikes again after a moment of silence, a a laugh is startled out of Peter as he dodges.  

“Why are you doing that?” Peter says when he settles back again.  Tony grins before slamming his feet down on the floor and lunging for Peter, who jumps on the table, then jumps again, reaching out to the ceiling.  His fingers stick and he pulls himself upwards until he is on all fours peering down on Tony like an angry hissing cat.  

Tony stands, and can’t smother the chuckle that comes out at the picture Peter paints.  “What?” Peter bites out, annoyed.

“Come on down cat boy,” Tony waves at him,  “I’ll call a truce.”

Peter narrows his eyes, before doing just that.  He eases off the ceiling, until he is sticking only by his fingertips, swings a little bit and lets go, colliding with Tony until they are both on the ground, winded by chuckling.  

“Don’t break the old man,” Rhodey says from the doorway, watching them both the a fondness that sometimes takes Tony’s breath away.  More than Peter sprawled across his abdomen, scrawny elbow jabbing into his side.

Tony grunts and sits up as Peter rolls off him, limbs flying. “He doesn’t weigh enough to really hurt me.  You’re failing in your fattening him up mission cookie.” 

Rhodey folds his arms and leans there, eyebrows raised.  “It’s like you don’t even try any more Tony.”

“There is no pleasing you,” Tony retorts, giving a hand to Peter to pull him up.  The kid takes it, and there is a moment where Tony slides his eyes to Peter and Peter grins after he stands up.  He releases his fingers but the palms stick, and Tony warily shakes them, watching as the hand stays connected.

He looks back at Peter, who sticks his tongue out before wiggling his palm and their hands release.  There is a weird lingering sensation of stickiness that doesn’t seem to be there when he pokes his palm, so Tony rubs his hand against his pants before turning back to the two men watching him.  “Oh shut up,” he says lowly before clearing his throat.  “If you’re done harassing me string bean, go to your room so Uncle Rhodey and I can talk about getting you to 200 pounds in the sneakiest ways possible.”

Peter shrugs, carelessly before freezing.  “How did you know I had taken one of the rooms as my own?”

“I have eyes everywhere,” Tony intones, and FRIDAY, the overly dramatic minx she was, flashed the lights.  

Rhodey rolls his eyes again.  “He’s forgetting to mention that he had had it picked out and prepared for you since before we all moved back here.”

“Stop giving away all my secrets light of my life,” Tony whines for the amusement of his audience.  Peter waves and heads out, he grabs on the doorframe on his way out, pulls himself back up and begins walking on the ceiling the rest of the way out.

Tony and Rhodey watch him until he disappears.  “That’s new right?” he asks.  “Because if I missed the development of that new and clearly bizarre habit when I was in the work haze, I am going to be so mad at myself.”

Rhodey smiles at him, and Tony collapses into the chair, gut still hurting from Peter’s controlled fall.  He’s getting old.  “It happened while you were away.  He likes to talk to Vision while upside down.  I’m not exactly sure how that one got started.”

“You’re a terrible spy,” Tony says.  “Nat could do so much better.  She’d have an entire folder and timeline chronicling everything and various margin notes about what it all could tie back to in his psyche.”

Rhodey is nonchalant in his perusal of the giant holographic screen scrolling real time through the code FRIDAY is writing for the latest project. “You’re calling her Nat again.”

Tony shrugs.  “I never didn’t call her Nat.”

“Oh,” Rhodey corrects.  “You called her many things, but you never really meant them.”

Tony looks up at the ceiling, observing the smooth concrete.  There are a few marks here and there, from various explosions in the lab.  He smiles faintly when he sees the dent in the corner.  It’s from the test of vibranium vs starkium.   “We talked briefly.”

Rhodey is silent, and when Tony tilts his head, he can see the tight lines of his posture.  “Nothing happened over there.  A few uncomfortable conversations I dodged, some shady science and medical procedures, and I may have flirted with T’Challa.  That one’s still a little unclear. But nothing big.”

“The last time you said, ‘nothing big happened to me’, you took a nuke through a wormhole. So excuse me if I don’t believe you for a moment.”

Tony goes back to contemplating the ceiling again.  “Seriously it was nothing Rhodey.  I just did the thing and got out.  Nat and I talked and she saw through me like usual, Frozen was trying to figure out if he was a real boy or not, Clint’s missing his family and on high alert, Wanda’s angry at the world and living her never ending teenage years, and the others existed, but I avoided them.”

The air conditioning unit kicks on, and there is a low hum in the background.  Tony makes a mental note to see if he can quiet that until it’s below the human spectrum of noise.  “And the Captain?” Rhodey says into the silence.

Tony doesn’t flinch, but it’s a close thing.  He shrugs.  “I didn’t talk to him.”  It’s his voice that gives him away, the careful flatness.  

“He wanted to talk to you.” He drops a hand on Tony’s shoulder, it stays there, heavy.  Like it’s holding Tony to the ground.

Tony spits out, “I don’t care what he wants.”  He still angry somewhere underneath all the pain, and he hates that he is.  That he still cares.  That Steve still has a hold on him.

Rhodey tilts his head in Tony’s direction.  “I think that’s actually healthy.”  

Tony shrugs. “I’m trying.“

“I know,” Rhodey says.  He squeezes Tony’s shoulder for a long moment.  “I’ll go get started in dinner.  We’ll probably be ready to go in an hour.  See you up there?”

“Yeah,” Tony replies.  “Yeah probably.”  

He sits there in that cold quiet lab as the air conditioning hums for a few moments longer before he gets up and grabs the helmet he uses for BARF.  

“Keep track of my brain, scans, time lapses, instances where I am unresponsive.  Everything FRIDAY.”

“Yes boss,” she replies softly.  

He puts the helmet on and waits for the sim to take over.  He feels his fingers bouncing a leather on the armrests of the chair.  There is always a moment before BARF takes over, this brief second where he feels between, like he has too much energy running under his skin, like he is vibrating out of his being, like he is falling apart and together at the same time, before he eases into unconsciousness.  

 

From 54985-466-8653

I wish we could have talked.  I know what I did, how I acted, it wasn’t...it wasn’t what you needed.  I couldn’t explain and I just saw you as this target.

From 54985-466-8653

I’m sorry.

From 54985-466-8653

I’ll be sorry every single day for the rest of my life if you let me tell you.

From 54985-466-8653

So this is day 1: I’m sorry Tony.

  
The next BARF sessions goes just as poorly as the last few.  

Tony is curled up on the couch next to his mother.  The piano sits just across the way, and Tony is small, smaller than in the memory with Howard.   He must be around six here.  “I love you son,” Maria says, and she runs her fingers down his cheek, hair slowly turning white as he watches. “I love you more than you could ever imagine.”

“Not more than I love you,” the smaller version of himself says. The picture they paint, leaning close and arguing about how much they love each other hurts Tony.  It feels like his heart is beating out of his chest.  It feels like a heart attack.

Older Tony, weary Tony, brushes his fingers across the keys.  Hitting the C sharp, and ignoring the way Maria turns to him, catches sight and gapes.  There is a numbness in his arm, and he knows this isn’t part of the dream.  It’s real.

“FRIDAY,” he garbles out, and she is already ending the session. She has DUM-E by his side and U.  U pushes an Excedrin into his mouth, and Tony chews it, already feeling the constriction in his chest easing.  

He lays there on the ground, trying to catch his breath for a long time.  FRIDAY softly calls his name repeatedly, but Tony waits until he has enough breath in his lungs to respond.  “I’m okay girl.  I’m okay,” he finally utters.

She doesn’t take it well.  “You had a cardiac event, boss.  There is no fine after that.  I should call Dr. Banner.”

“Don’t,” Tony bites out as he eases himself into a standing position.  “Leave him out of this.”

“You’re going to kill yourself using BARF,” she responds.  “Please Boss.  Stop using it.”

Tony looks at the piles of readouts.  It’s something he could fix, something he could make better if he continues.  That he could perfect.  He thinks of Peter’s face, edged in too many sad things, Rhodey’s careful questions, Bruce’s constant worry, Visions careful hovering, Natasha’s broken face.    “Okay.” he says.  “Okay.”

Something like a sigh comes out of the speaker, and Tony wonders why it still feels like that was a lie on his tongue.

 

From _honeybear_

You missed dinner.

From _Tony_

I know, sorry, work thing.

From _honeybear_

Work thing?

From _Tony_

We’re retiring the BARF program.  It’s having issues.

From _honeybear_

Tony should I be worried?

From _Tony_

Nope.  Not over this.  Since it’s over and dead.

From _honeybear_

Is it really over?

From _Tony_

Since I smashed the helmet at FRIDAY’s request, yes.  Yes it is.

From _honeybear_

Okay.  Good. 

 

Tony feels soft over the next few weeks.  Like he’s ready to be molded together, like he can try, breathe out of his older habits.  The ugly ones.  The ingrained instincts that has him sketching new bomb schematics on napkins, reaching for the vodka behind the bar and not the water bottles.  The ones that live in his distraction, the things that sneak up on him.   Like looking for someone who isn’t there, telling a joke and looking for the Nat’s secret smile across the table.  For Sam’s quite study of the room.  For Steve being there in his personal space.  Clint in the rafters, throwing shit at them.  Wanda's quiet presence.

He wakes up every day and spends as much time as he can with the group in the tower.  They train, put Peter to the paces, even though the kid complains loudly.  He tweaks War Machine until Rhodey doesn't seem to have trouble.  He lets Vision try to bake through his favorite dishes to varying degrees of success.  He, Peter, and Bruce banter their ways through different ways to fix prosthetic for veterans, while Rhodey will add a point or two.  Peter ends up working crazy hours two nights for the internship presentation before they finish.  Tony watches from a video feed this time as he and his partner run the first test with a live patient who cries as she takes her first steps, then first jog, then dances with her husband.  

They laugh. They live.  And Tony feels like he can breathe for the first time in a long time.  Like something isn't hanging over him.  Steve's shadow seems to stick is Wakanda, finally.  

"Boss," FRIDAY chirps.  "I've found the request plan from a few weeks ago."

Tony steps back from the prototype he had been pulling apart in front of him.  "Pull them up Fry."

FRIDAY delivers the plans from the memory with Howard finally.  Tony traces the weathered paper in the image, the plans, and it's a later design of the arc reactor, when it was bigger with frious sketches of the different uses it coud have.  Flying cars, powering homes, malls, cities.  Tony follows the haphazard notes until he finds a blurry mess in the right hand corner.  Tony leans close to take a second look, but it's still a mess.  He zooms in and it's now a pixelated mess.  FRIDAY adjusts the image without having to be asked, and Tony grins quietly to himself until he finally see what the mess of markings really are.  In Howard's faded but messy scrawl reads, _I never wanted to leave you behind a legacy of blood and death for you Tony.  Know I mean that._

Tony pretends like his hands don't shake as he swipes away the image and turns back to the schematic of an arm in front of him.  

 

From _baby carter_

Yo.  Tripp's gotten himself into some trouble.  I've gotten him out, but fyi

From _Tony_

Need an on the run fund?

From _baby carter_

Nope.  You're "you're 21, go do something fun but not strippers or yes strippers but never tell me and REMEMBER VEGAS ALWAYS COMES BACK TO HAUNT YOU" birthday party fund's got this.

From _Tony_

It always surprises me how straight laced you ended up being

From _baby carter_

You act like having Peggy Carter for an aunt did not put the fear of god in me from day one

From _Tony_

godmother, and it didn't do anything to me

From _baby carter_

You were an ocean away.  She could only yell on the phone.  She disciplined me in person.

From _Tony_

oooooooooooooh yeah.  fear of god indeed

From _baby carter_

EXACTLY

 

He doesn't remember Howard's kind face.

He doesn't remember that moment in his office.

But then again he does, being ten and sitting on his dad's knee as Howard explained how they were going to get SI to save the world one day,

For the first time in months, Tony drinks and drinks until he can't think any more.   

  
From 54985-466-8654  


You act like I can’t steal steve’s phone and figure out which phone number is yours

From  _Tony_

Is it under, Ex work wife?

From _Capsicle The Sequel_

Work wife?

From _Tony_

Oh god I don’t have enough patience to explain it to you.  But seriously, what do you want?

From _Capsicle The Sequel_

To say I’m sorry.

From _Tony_

You murdering my parents was an unfortunate series of events that ultimately does not weigh on you but on HYDRA and nazis.  

From _Tony_

So there.  

From _Tony_

Forgiven.

From _Tony_

But you never were guilty in the first place.

From _Capsicle The Sequel_

I meant about everything that went down in Germany.  That was because of me.

From _Capsicle The Sequel_

But thanks for the other thing.  It means...it means something.

From _Tony_

Jesus kid.  Germany isn’t on you either.  Just because mommy and daddy suck at talking and started fighting, it doesn’t mean it’s the kids faults.

From _Capsicle The Sequel_

Mommy and Daddy?

From _Tony_

21st century phrase.  Ignore it.  

From _Capsicle The Sequel_

It's n ot on you either.

From _Tony_

Oh. Thanks

From _Capsicle The Sequel_

Again, no big deal.

From _Tony_

Lose this number.

From _Capsicle The Sequel_

I think not.

From _Tony_

Fuck I liked you more when you were missing a personality

From _Capsicle The Sequel_

You say the sweetest things to a gal Tony.

From _Tony_

Fuck you Barnes

  
Tony’s in the middle of tearing apart the arm he had used for the legionnaire project before Ultron...before Ultron when the call comes in.  FRIDAY raises a hologram of a phone call beside him as he tinkers.  Tony yells, “It’s Tony, what’s up?”

There is some heavy breathing for a moment, and Tony thinks about waving the hologram aside, it’s a prank, when Peter rasps out, “Hey I need some help.”

Tony drops the stylus and straightens.  “FRIDAY, I need news cam footage, a sitrep, and an alarm for the rest of the team en route to Spiderman’s position.”  There is some more heavy breathing, then Peter gets out.  “Not a villain.  Just some weird freak lightening out near the old Avengers compound.”  He pauses, guiltily, if Tony doesn’t know better.  

“Spiderman, what is going on?” Tony repeats.  “Do I need to suit up and head to you?”

“ _ No _ ,” Peter replies quickly.  “But take a look into the footage I know you have FRIDAY recording from the suit’s lenses.”

FRIDAY brings up a holographic display of the current line of sight for the Spiderman suit, and on the ground is the familiar crop circle display Thor usually leaves when he comes or goes.  “Fry?” Tony calls, and she isolates the image, outlining the symbols in the circle before displaying it beside the screen.  She begins running through a translation algorithm without another word from him. 

“I was just poking around,” Peter babbles.  “I know you hate talking about the Compound, but I wanted to take a look at the training facilities and Vision gave me a heads up on how to get here and get in the place.  I had just step foot on the grounds when the lightening struck the ground like a foot away from me, like it was writing something because there were about five more strikes as it finished the whole crop circle thing.”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Thor you idiot,” he hisses lowly.  “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter replies.  “Just a little running for my life from writing lightening, which is a thing I never thought I would say.”

Tony laughs.  “Trust me, knowing a Norse alien who thinks he is a god was not something I saw coming when I was your age either.”

“Ah,” Peter’s voice has a smirk in it.  “You give me the best openings to make age jokes.”

“Do you not want me to upgrade the suit, ever?”

“Oh look, a bird that got fried by the lightning.  It smells terrible.  Not like barbecue at all.”

FRIDAY dings, and Tony turns his attention to her second screen.  “Translation complete.”  Tony begins to read the paragraph on the screen before cursing lowly.  His fingers skitter across the top of the desk, closing programs as he moves.  “How fast can you get back Spidey?”

“Uh,” Peter gauges, looking back in the direction of the tower.  “An hour?”

Tony curses lowly.  “Too long, we’ll come to you. You know what a quinjet looks like?” Peter hums in assent.  “We’ll be flying one your way.”

“FRIDAY,” Tony calls as he cuts the line.  “Assemble the team.  We need to head to Wakanda, and make sure everyone gets a copy of what you just sent me.”

The suit begins to assemble around him, and Tony hears her confirmation in his ear a moment later.  He closes his eyes and take a breathe for a moment before heading to the jet where Bruce, War Machine, and Vision are already assembled.  

Fucking Asgardians.

From  _ Tony _

We’re coming to Wakanda.  This is your heads up.

From  _ kittykat _

Is this an order from the UN?

From  _ Tony _

No  But the world’s in danger and we need all hands on deck.

From  _ kittykat _

Land in the courtyard

From  _ Tony _

Thanks

The familiar whine of the quinjet, catches the breathe in Steve's throat in the middle of his conversation with Sam.  He nods his head after Clint confirms the jet is indeed the old Avengers Quinjet, and the teams scrambles to assemble in the palace courtyard, costumed and armed to the teeth. They've gone over this scenario various times, talked about if it was UN troops.  Tony, alone.  Tony and the US military. So it's with ease, they form a semicircle around the plane, ready to attack if necessary.   Steve is tense, ready but not for this - not ready to have to defend Bucky against Tony.  Not ready to try and take his entire team on the run again.  

Bucky already has the hunted look, shuttered eyes, sliding into the sniper face he used back in the war with a little of the Winter Soldier in there as well.  Steve knows this version well enough to know exactly what he is going to get or bot in this fight.  Wanda stands, straight back, energy swirling in her eyes.  Scott scrambles to her side and shrinks, ready to surprise any enemy combatants if necessary.  Sam takes to the air, and Red Wing separates taking to the other side of the plane.  Clint's settled on the roof, row in hand but not raised.  Natasha stands, looking at ease, but muscles tense.  Steve holds the naginata[1] T'Challa had had crafted for him at the ready.  The top has a blunted blade, but it's still hurts a good bit.

He won't say it, but he misses the familiar weight of the shield at the moment.  

The plane touches down, doors open, and the ramp expands, but for a long moment no one appears.  Steve wonders if anyone takes a breath in the long moment before the familiar sheen of red and gold appears.   They all watch warily as Tony disembarks the plane, slowly.  He’s in the suit, but the faceplate is up.  He stops at the bottom of the ramp and gauges the reaction from the rest of the Avengers in front of him. 

“Tony,” Steve says and tightens his grip on the pole, grateful it's made out of vibranium.  He just wants to reach out and…something.  “What are you doing here?”

Something in Steve aches at the thought of fighting friends again.  Attacking brothers in arms.  He doesn’t like this, no matter what the media says.  He hates it.  Hates that he is in the middle of it.  One of the perpetrators. The weight of all the expectations people have of Captain America is like a manacle, holding him down.  Steve feels like Atlas, pending, crumbling, as he holds up the weight of an entire world’s disappointment.  Under his own disappointment in himself.

Tony shrugs, “Liked the weather.  Decided to come visit.”

“Don't lie Tony. That's beneath the years and battles we spent side by side,” Steve says, and regrets it the moment the words come out of his mouth, sharp and angry.  

The silence sometimes lingers more than he wants.  In the gaping hole of days here, Steve wonders what Tony would have said about this item or that, like a festering wound.  He wonders what Tony would think of Wakanda.  If he would be wide eyed and filled with wonder.  He wonders if Tony would be arguing with T’Challa, loud noisy conversations.  Now that Tony is here, right in front of him again, Steve doesn’t ask.  Just tells.  

“That's the difference between you and me,” Tony grins his press smile.  “You betrayed your belief in our teamwork.  I didn’t.”

“You put us on a leash without even talking to us about it,” Steve bites back.  "I know you Tony.  You knew this was coming before we even heard of the phrase _Sokovia Accords._ "

Tony’s grin stiffens, and Steve knows he’s gotten a hit in, and it feels more like it hurts him than Tony.  “I never stopped protecting us.  All of us.  Can you say you ever did that much?”

_ Together, _ he hears the the space between, the echo of something in the word.  Steve feels an organ wretch in his chest, something soft and malleable.  Nothing replaces it in the empty chasm that has split open in him.

Tony turns, and Steve wants to say something, reach out, fill the space.  But there is nothing, just the echo of choices, mocking him.   _ You gotta live for yourself Stevie _ \- Bucky at 15.  Peggy’s heartbroken sob of his name, and he can’t open his mouth, too cold to even shiver.

Steve says nothing, again.  

Nat and Clint don’t say anything, don't have any other movement than what is necessary but her eyes linger and his lips quirk, rueful, before focusing on Wanda.  She stands beside Sam, leaning into his space.  Scott is close at her side.

“Save yourself before you try to save the whole damn world Steve,” Tony intones, serious finally.

He can’t not ask.  Not when it’s echoing between them.  “What about you Tony?  Who is going to save you?”

“I can take care of myself,” Tony shrugs.  “I’ve been doing it for a longer than you have been out of the ice.”

“And besides,” Spiderman shrugs as he drops until he is perched on the shoulder of Tony’s armor.  Tony doesn’t flinch, even move.  Like it’s something they regularly do. “He’s got us.”  The rest of Tony’s team settles around him, quiet in their reassurance of the statement.  Bruce takes the left, Vision by his side, and Rhodey is on Tony’s right.  Steve has a faint thought for the old days where it would be him at Tony’s side, not Rhodey, but then again, that had never been his place, had it?  It had always been Rhodey’s.  Steve had just been keeping it warm for him.  

Steve aches, quietly, in the small places that are cold inside him.  The ones that whisper,  _ Steve, I think you have protect and serve written in your blood _ and  _ you are always looking for a fight, aren’t you punk _ .  Ice is in his veins, and he wonders, faintly, if this is what he chose when he looked over at Tony, like deep down he knew how this would go, how this would all play out.  That duty, his irrational sense of honor would play out like this. 

Steve doesn’t say,  _ I’m glad. _  He wants to. Wants to let Tony know he’s happy he has people, that he has a family.  That he isn’t alone.  He wants to have that right, to stand in Tony’s space, too close. Close enough to be dangerous.  Close enough to want.  Close enough to be Steve again, tiny Steve back in Brooklyn, wishing and hoping to be the best version of himself, something crawling in his skin.  Feeling too big and too small all at the same time.  Knowing that he won’t be the best.  Can never be the best.  That he won’t measure up.

He stands there, watching how they revolve around Tony.  Like he’s the center of their gravity and feels adrift.  Off center, askew.  Like he doesn’t know where to go, how to function in this new world.  “Yeah,” he finally says.  “Yeah you have.”

Tony’s shifts, Spiderman adjusting on his shoulder, as he slides a slow grin on his face, eyes shifting to Natasha.  “You changed your hair,” he grins, too wide.   Steve turns uneasily, and catches Sam watching him close, mouth bent downwards.  He feels his own face fall, and Sam’s gaze heavy on him.

“It’s more suitable for this role,” she demurs, hair more golden than firey.  “You gained some friends.”

Tony can’t smile through the mask, but Steve has spent enough time around him that he can read Tony's tone.  “Had to balance out the scale.”

If he was anyone else, it would be an accusation.  Here, now, it’s a simple fact, like the sun rises in the east, and there are two truths in the world according to Tony: death, and idiots.  

There is something in this moment, something that makes Steve want to reach out and finish the distance between them.  Be right there in Tony's face.  Bucky rests a hand on his shoulder and Steve leans into the touch.  Iron Man's helmet adjusts enough that Steve knows Tony is moving them out of view.

He aches at the thought.  Aches like he did when his lungs wanted to give out and all he could do was suck in air between another coughing fit.  It’s been years since he’s felt this way, but he remembers it too well.  

T’Challa steps forward, gaze level, but Steve can taste the disapproval in his tone as he says, “Tony, you said you had information you needed to brief us on?”

Tony smiles, grateful, at T’Challa.  “Yeah,” Tony says.  “Thor sent a message from Asgard, and he’s going to come to Steve, so I thought we should all collaborate together on this.”

“What did the message say?” Natasha asks.  She’s very careful to keep her gaze on Tony and not look towards Banner.  

“Thanos is coming.”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Chinese weapon with a pole and a blade on the end, because wtf does Nomad fight with? It looks like a giant shovel
> 
> I crammed so much crap in into this chapter to just get it done and over with. Hopefully the next chapter won't take 3 months. Also this is now a series with a side stories thing called //commented out. I have a few things I want to cram in there eventually that i missed in this chapter in my rush to get it done. 
> 
> (Thanks for reading and reviewing. I'm not going to lie, every review guilted me into writing some more and poking at this chapter. Seriously.)


	7. Interlude: Natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I,” he starts before grimacing and finishes the glass before standing up. He pours himself another finger or three of scotch, tasting it before starting up again. “I keep looking down the line at the next five years, ten years and beyond even, and wonder if it’s worth it. If any of this,” he gestures with his glass. “Is worth what I am going to have to do to make it okay.”

“Do you think about burning it all down sometimes?” Tony asks, drink in hand staring out at the skyline. Natasha’s barely in the room, but she knows it’s meant for her.  

They have these half conversations, something riding underneath the initial conversation. He seems to think this is the only way they can talk. She aches with the subtext, wants to just wrap her hands around him some days and say, _I can be honest too_.

She shrugs as she curls into herself on the couch. “Depends on the day,” she says with a smile.

Tony’s grin is a brief lift of his lips before it smooths out. She watches him watch her in the window, and wants to reach out. Wants to put a hand on him. Remind him that humans can be good, that she can be good.

(Clint had been the first one, bleeding out between her fingers, from her bullet. “You’ve got good rattling around in that head of yours.”

“No,” she had sworn, trying to find something to stop the bleeding. “I really don’t.”

He had laughed like it hurt to hear _that_ more than the bleeding. “Snipers eyes, Red. I see better than you do."  He coughed, and there was too much blood.  "You’re just going to have to trust me on this one.”)

“Yeah,” Tony said faintly. “It depends on the day.”

The silence drags between them. The quiet of the air conditioning, the sounds of the others way off in the distance, the city down below, the clink of the ice in his glass is all there and not. Natasha can see it weighing down on him. Lines building upon each other, the patchwork of his face that can’t be smoothed away with the alcohol. His face is a map that she still can’t read. He’s half translated, but in a language that is ever evolving.

“I,” he starts before grimacing and finishes the glass before standing up. He pours himself another finger or three of scotch, tasting it before starting up again. “I keep looking down the line at the next five years, ten years and beyond even, and wonder if it’s worth it. If any of this,” he gestures with his glass. “Is worth what I am going to have to do to make it okay.”

Natasha watches as he moves back to the chair, a half slide he gracefully incorporates into his movements when Tony has been drinking for a while. She tightens her grip on the cushion of the chair, and thinks about the briefings she has been a part of. The Soviet Union of her childhood, with the fear rank in the air and the hunted look in everyone’s eyes.

“If it saves one life,” she says. “It’s worth it.”  She waits, and Tony looks at her, actually meets her eyes. “I’d do anything to save just one more person. Even if it costs me my life.”

Tony grins at that, and she can imagine it, bloody on a battlefield as he challenges the next villain to kill him instead of someone innocent. Instead of _her_ even. “Why Natasha, I never would have thought you would have cared.”

She keeps her gaze steady, doesn’t give into the joke. “We’re a team Tony,” she states. “I’m fond of every single one of you in different ways.”

His face shutters, and she knows what runs in his head. _Unsuitable for a team. Take Ironman but leave Tony Stark. Colonel Rhodes would be a better option_. She doesn’t regret the report. He’s always been motivated by rejection. She regrets the _play_.

(“This is going to destroy him,” Coulson murmurs. “You’re poking at every single soft spot he has.”

Natasha shrugs. “We need him to improve.”

Coulson tilts his head, studying her. “We don’t need to break him.”

She thinks about the red room, the whisps of the man with the metal arm breaking her own. _Don’t trust anyone has your back Natalia. You must be a cobra in a hen house._ She shakes it away. “It worked for me.”

He smiles, soft and slow. “I wouldn’t have likened you two to have come from a similar stock. But I can see it.”

She didn’t mean it like that, but she doesn’t push the topic. Coulson accepts the report and files it away, which is what she needed him to do from the get go. Whatever it took to get it done.)

Forcing air out through her nose, evening it out, she lets that regret fall away. She can’t hold them in. Natasha would drown in them if she did.

(She realizes in the middle of the battle with Ultron that Coulson is right, he was always right and just waiting for her to see it.

Natasha also realizes that she will never tell Tony any of it.)

(He wouldn’t believe her.)

“Me too,” he says, and it’s like he’s softened while she has been lost in her memories. “I think you’re all going to be what kills me.” He says it like it’s a new realization, like he gets it as he speaks the words. It’s a newborn thought, one shared between the two of them but it’s out in the world, and it’ll gain speed one day. It’ll be sentient and used against the both of them. But here, in this moment before that. It’s everything. It’s real honesty between them.

“Me too,” she echoes. “But I’m okay with that.”  Covering the red in her ledger with her own, that’s got to be enough, she hopes. It needs to be enough. It’ll have to be. She can’t clean out all the red, so hopefully - Natasha stills the thought.

Tony brings the glass to his lips again as he looks away. “Considering I’m going to burn the world down for you,” and he waves around the compound they are sitting in, encompassing all of them. “You know I am too.”

She smiles back. “Burn baby burn.”

He laughs, loud and honest and unlike him. Unlike him with her. Natasha’s grin widens, and she hopes this is them getting better. Evolving. Becoming a new them. An honest version of themselves, and she’s okay with that.

“Thanks,” he says. “I needed that.”  She doesn't say anything.  Doesn't need to.  

Tony finishes his drink before hitting a button, “Pop Culture Therapy for Rogers, aka Movie Night in the living room in 10 minutes.”

She settled as the room filled, and watched as Tony entertained. His low mood forgotten by all except her. Once they settled in, popcorn bowls passed around and movie beginning, she caught his eye and smiled. He returned it back.

New them.

 

**_Five years later_ **

The words Natasha uses aren’t the ones that can be translated easily. She switches between languages as she goes, sifting through images on the holographic projection as she speaks lowly. Steve’s stilled in the back, where he was shifting uncomfortably on the sleek modern furniture that Wakanda tends to favor. She knows he misses his well worn place in the couch in Tony’s lab. She knows a lot of things, and Natasha regrets not knowing more in this moment.

“Natasha?” Steve voices, moving until he puts his hand on her shoulder. She twists away from him, a furious move as she swears a little loudly.

She begins to build a timeline and pulls up the leaked SHIELD documents, pushing aside her own files and digging deeper into the ones for the government. There are some from five years ago, around the concern of Thor’s powers, the smaller sightings of different heroes with powers. She begins going through leaked memos on the Watchdogs, concerned feedback bordering hate speech from senators and heads of departments.

She works for hours.

She tunes out the others as she tries to find the missing pieces in this map. Clint settles besides her, watching her work. She knows there is a group growing, watching as she strings together different events, ordering them. She runs a search on Tony Stark and slowly begins mapping his tabloid articles in the timeline as well, placing similar locations in same sections, before moving on. Natasha then goes to scientific research, white papers, and pulls up as many as she can on the Chitauri invasion and impacts to the government, culture, war and propaganda. The Ultron incident. She circles back to recent department secretaries and pulls up profiles on each, taking special care to look at the Department of Labor’s secretary, highlighting some of his opinions on Stark Industries before spiderwebbing his circle of influence and then following the path of a senator on the Homeland defense committee.

Eventually she steps back and stares at the floating diagrams, sees how it’s all connected.

“What’s wrong Nat?” Clint says, finally. He’s looking through her diagram, eyes lighting up as he goes.

“It’s all connected,” she huffs, still marveling at the complicated mess. Tony had been playing 4 dimensional chess, and it’s almost beyond her, even with him leaving her hints along the way.

 _Why can’t we just be honest_ , she thinks in the direction of New York. _Why can’t you trust me?_

“Well duh,” Sam calls in the back. “We can see that beautiful mind. But care to explain to people who don’t speak spider webs?”

She throws her stylus behind her without looking, and hears him yelp as he ducks. She smiles for a moment, satisfied before turning around, an ounce of tension leaving her shoulder before she remembers it all, and hunches again.

Wanda is curled into a chair, a cup of tea in hand. Scott is stretched out on couch near her, Sam leaning over the back of it watching her. Barnes has taken a spot against the wall, and Steve is peering at the mess behind her on her right with Clint on her left. But in the doorway stands T’Challa, who only looks at her with a heavy air.

“The current Department of Labor head is a former board member of Hammer Technologies, who has a political adviser who used to council former HYDRA political plants like Senator Stern.” She pauses, and takes a breath. “Tony was blackmailed into supporting the Accords.”

Noise erupts in the room. “How?” Steve shouts over the dull roar as he steps closer. Barnes comes off the wall in corner of her vision, and Natasha turns her attention to Steve, but keeps an eye on T’Challa.

“The DOL is leveling a lawsuit around overtime infraction against Stark Industries, and the chairman has been having more one on one meetings with Tony than the actual CEO of SI, Pepper. The adviser is working with a Senator Hurt who is still looking into the Ultron incident since it started in a facility in the United States. They’ve already levied fines against Tony, but they are looking into ways to do jail time."

She meetings Steve's eyes before continuing, "There is a law in the House of Representatives to make War Criminals work for the government instead of doing jail time."  She pauses before adding, "It’s going to pass.”

“They couldn’t make Tony do anything,” Steve hisses. “He isn’t a war criminal.”

Clint shrugs and steps up back to her side. “They could charge him as one. There are enough people he’s pissed off. And if they need to bribe a few people,” Clint grins. “That’s what PACs are for right?”

“He wouldn’t actually do any of the work,” Sam states, and everyone looks to him. He standing straight, fingers resting in a light hold of the couch. “Stark’s a lot of things, but he wouldn’t do anything to provide the government assholes anything that would hurt anyone.”

Natasha grins, “In the war criminal law, there is a line in the one hundred and eighty page document that would allow war criminals to be microchipped. It would be put in the brain to make sure no one would remove it. The technology used would be from Pym Technologies, which was made back after Janet Van Dyne went missing. Pym had a lot of ethically questionable inventions from that time frame.” Scott starts forward and reaches for a phone. “Oscorp bought the technology, and Norman Osbourn isn’t well known for his ethics and morals.”

Clint jerks. “That was Sitwell’s mind control chip mission, wasn't it?”

Natasha nods, and everyone in the room, even T’Challa stills. “We have evidence of a work, if malfunctioning to the point of killing the subject after a few months prototype from 3 years ago. Who knows what level it’s at now, since it looks like Sitwell never killed the project when he infiltrated Oscorp.”

“But,” Steve says, desperation clear in his voice. “He wanted the restrictions.”

Natasha doesn’t know how to say, _not these restrictions_ clear enough for Steve to hear, but she also knows he’s desperate to make this make sense. To make it feel like he didn’t abandon Tony back in Siberia to a fate potentially worse than death. That he didn’t destroy everything they had, and be completely wrong.  She had clung to that same hope when she had left Tony in that German hospital, praying to anyone that she was doing the right thing.

She knows it isn't that black and white, but every day it feels more like she made the wrong one.

“These are not the first version of the Accords,” T’Challa states, and it’s like all the air is sucked out of the room. “There was a version presented to the UN that had any one who presented with enhancements that could not be proven as a technological equipment and studied by private labs before deemed as safe for the public, to be placed under an undisclosed military group to be ‘put to work’.” Natasha can hear the air quotes as he speaks. “Many of you in this room would have fallen into the groups they called ‘enhanced’.”

No one says anything for a long time.  All of it hangs between them as they realize just how badly this could have gone.  Just how close they were to be held down an experimented on.  Natasha fists her hands to hide how bad she is shaking.  All she can hear is the squeaking wheel of the gurney during her graduation ceremony.

“It sounds like the camps,” Steve finally utters past numb lips. “The ones in Germany.”

T’Challa’s smile is a dark and bloodthirsty thing. “It was the exact same thing.”

“Who presented it?” Natasha asks.

“The United States ambassador, supported by General Ross.” T’Challa pushes off the wall and takes a few steps closer to her. Natasha can’t read his expression, but that's nothing new to her. “It was thought about, for a while, but then suddenly senators who mentioned it favorably decided to vote against the motion.” His tone shifts, turning musing. “I remember seeing Tony Stark in Germany a lot that month as I shadowed my father.”

“What is he doing?” Wanda questions. “What has he been doing the entire time?”

“Protecting you,” Barnes says in his perpetually rusty voice, like someone is dragging the words out of him, but his eyes are fierce. “He’s making sure you’re safe in case they get him. He’s protecting you from him even.” He meets all their eyes, staying the longest on Steve. “He was just hoping that you would help him.”

Natasha doesn’t voice it, but she doesn’t think Tony was hoping for them to save him. He was hoping to disappear, leave them behind as whatever happened with the government went down.

“He’s burning the world down,” she murmurs. “To protect us.”

The alarms in the room went off, “Unidentified ship in Wakandian air space.”

“Avengers,” Cap says, hoarse. “Assemble.”

And they do, and there isn’t anything for a long time so Cap calls it a false alarm. They end up just standing around, discussing the revelations in quiet groups. Natasha and Clint are silent, conversing in body language and observations of others until the plane comes into view. _Tony_ , Natasha thinks, heart in her throat before settling it back down.

“I don’t like being in someone’s debt,” Clint tells her. She has to grin, because she feels the exact same way. “So if I punch him, I’m going to need you to cover me.”

“Not if I get there first.” She retorts.

“You’re on Red.”

She tilts her head, eyeing the door as it opens and thinks,  _Don't be stupid Tony.  Let us help you for once._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There. That's the accords endgame I keep forgetting to tie up. This was going to be part of the other thing, but it's kind of a key plot point, sooo..
> 
> Now all we have left is why Steve can't handle Tony ever speaking these days, Thantos, and the end of the world. :)


	8. hung thread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So maybe Obie had loved that kid he had called nephew for years. Maybe he had tried to raise him right, tried to be a father figure, but Tony was hard to love. He was good at pushing people away, turning them against him.
> 
> Maybe Obie was just another example of that. Another tragedy of his own creation. 
> 
> He’s good at that. Being his own worst enemy.

They move the party indoors, after T’Challa’s guards give them enough annoyed looks at their posturing.  Tony follows the Secret Avengers, carefully surrounded by his team.  Peter is walking normally, but Tony can see him itching to leap up to the ceilings.  He carefully exchanges a look at Bruce who is making a  _ isn’t our sciencebro child the most adorable thing ever _ face that Tony can help but grin at.  But he catches sight of Vision carefully following Wanda, eyes on her hair, tracing every line of her body and relaxed in a way Tony hasn’t seen since before everything.   _ Oh _ , he thinks and leaves it alone.    

Rhodey’s legs whir quietly as he moves, and Sam’s posture is carefully straight, painfully almost.  Tony almost says something but bites his tongue.  It’s not his place to make peace here.  He’s only made it worse in the RAFT, and with his usual flair, he’ll destroy it before they have a moment to speak.  This is between the two of them, and if Rhodey’s face counts for anything - for  _ everything  _ \- he’ll corner the other man the second they can gain a moment of peace for a talk. 

The others pause for a moment when they reach a fork in the hall.  “Go,” T’Challa says.  “Change out of your gear and we can talk in the lounge.  We should have this conversation as friends, not warriors.”  His tone books no argument, and they follow this orders.

Steve lingers the longest, watching them - watching him - a beat too long, eyes searching for something before he turns around and heads off as well, following Clint’s quick call.  Tony carefully avoids his eyes the entire time, watches as Natasha’s brightened hair gleam in the light, Clint close at her side.

They are safe.  They know enough to read between the lines.  They know what to expect.  What to see.  They’ve always known.  

“You shall take rooms close to Tony, which are coincidentally close to my wing as well.”  T’Challa takes them in the other direction, and Tony very carefully ignores the looks everyone shoots his way. 

Peter peels off at the first room, Vision second, Bruce third, and Rhodey across the hall from him.  Tony turns to go to the room he stayed at last time when T’Challa  speaks again,  “Natasha,” he pauses, searching Tony’s face for a long moment.  “She discovered something and shared it with the team.”

Tony smiles, easy in the uncertainty before him.  “What was it?”

“The war criminal bill,” he replies, and there is the center of it.  The hesitant way he says the words.  Like it’s careful ground to thread, not something long gone and buried.  Over and handled.

He rolls his shoulders and leans back on his heels for a moment.  “I’m fine kitty cat.  Got that handled and wrapped up in a bow.”

T’Challa’s eyes narrow.  “Tony, what have you done?”

“Nothing that hurts you, any Avenger past or present or myself.  It’s fine,” Tony insists with a wave of his hand.  “If you catch a bug earlier enough, you can quarantine it before it takes the entire system down.”

There is a pause before he’s hit with, “How is Miss Potts these days?”

Tony swallows down the memories, the biting words, the frightened texts, the single minded,  _ leave her alone _ that echoes in his thoughts.  The five months he spent drinking more than he should, the meetings he attended, the firm grip of senators hands, the flash of bulbs, while pushing every feeling down.  Every sense of guilt, disgust, aching weariness.

He nearly goes under with the emotions.  Nearly tips under the sea swimming underneath him that is always ready to take him down.  Always there.  Always waiting.  But sheer determination keeps him upright, keeps him moving forward - has been for years.

“She’s perfectly fine.  Busy in my absence with the company, but she’s got it handled.  Always was better at managing that stuff than me, “ he replies.

“ _ Tony _ ,” T’Challa begins.  

“ _ T’Challa _ ,” he retorts.  And the other man leans back and takes him in.  The way he is carefully standing, precariously calm, facade nearly crumbling under the weight of his gaze.  

_ I can see you too _ , Tony thinks, bitter enough he can taste it on the back of his tongue.  He bites it down until it simmers back underneath the surface.  

“You don’t have to do this alone,” T’Challa finally offers.

Tony grins.  “I’m not.  Didn’t you see I brought a team with me?”

The king huff and backs off.  His eyes stay with Tony.  “I know your kind Tony.”  

“I can guarantee you have never met anyone like me,” Tony bites back, and barely keeps from freezing.  Too bitter.  Too honest.

T’Challa stalks forward, too close, almost nose to nose with him.  “You will destroy yourself to save them.  You will destroy everything you are, everything you could be, to save them.  You love them too much.”

“Haven’t you heard?” Tony asks.  “I got rid of my heart a long time ago.”  His knuckles graze his chest, and he misses the heavy weight of the reactor.  Instead, under a metal ribcage is a new heart.  Printed from his stem cells, but perfect in every way.  Flawless.  

If he thinks too hard, he can still feel the strum of the reactor still.  See it when he closes his eyes.  The memory of his mistakes, right there, guiding his future.

He’s been lost since it went dark, if he’s honest.

T’Challa reaches for him, and Tony doesn’t move out of the way, doesn’t react with the hand on his chin until their foreheads meet.  “Stop hiding from those who only want to help,” T’Challa entones.  “I am here.  I am supporting you.  Let me.”

Tony searches his eyes, and sees nothing there but compassion.  He can’t trust it though.  People are good actors.  Better than him.  

(There are days when Tony thinks Obie was only there for the long con.  The company.  He was an extra, unwanted but a means to an end.  Because Obie had to be the one to drive Howard to have another drink that night.  Had goaded him, Tony had watched it and rolled his eyes, thinking nothing of it for years, but then after Iron Man - after the ARC reactor - after Afghanistan and weeks, months, under the water, dying and coming back every day.  It had had to be Obie.

But then it was the Winter Soldier with his bare fists and there was nothing to connect Obie to HYDRA.  Nothing. 

So maybe Obie had loved that kid he had called nephew for years.  Maybe he had tried to raise him right, tried to be a father figure, but Tony was hard to love.  He was good at pushing people away, turning them against him.

Maybe Obie was just another example of that.  Another tragedy of his own creation.  

He’s good at that.  Being his own worst enemy.)

“Don’t let me take you down too,” Tony whispers.  “Don’t let me destroy you too.  You have too much to lose.”

He pulls back, and T’Challa lets him, watching as he carefully steps away.  Tony can feel his gaze heavy on his back until he goes down the stairs back to the lab to hide himself away.  It’s the only way he knows to keep himself from infecting others.  

 

 

From _Sharon_

Tony did something happen at the compound?

From _Tony_

Don’t ask questions you already have the answers to

From  _Sharon_

Do you need back up big brother

From  _Tony_

Fuck don’t call me that.

From  _Sharon_

You know Aunt Peggy always said we were siblings, the both of us

From  _Tony_

I didn’t

From  _Sharon_

You know Peggy’s rule is law, right

From  _Tony_

I remember

From  _Sharon_

So do you need back up big brother

From  _Tony_

I’ve got it under control

From  _Tony_

I’ll call you if I need another hand

From  _Tony_

Honest

From  _Sharon_

I haven’t said it in a while, but you know I love you right?

From  _Tony_

More than the moon and the stars

From  _Tony_

Me too

 

 

They’re in the summer house, Peggy’s home, and it’s just the three of them.  Her, Uncle Daniel and him.  Tony breathes out as he remembers being ten and spending a full summer in this house as something happened that Dad and Mom had to handle.

(He looked it up, later.  It had been a multi month litigation that nearly drove SI to bankruptcy.  That was the year the military contracts got upped, and Howard spent most of that fall and winter working longer and longer hours until spring came and he had better hours and better moods.

Tony wonders if it’s a bad thing that he had liked that fall and winter, just his mother, himself, Ana and Jarvis, giggling their way through days without the cloud of a frustrated, desperate Howard in the background of everything.)

“Mom says people aren’t lists.  You don’t like someone more than another,” Tony ends his story.  “But Johnny says people like others more.”

“There’s always a ranked lists when it comes to people,” Peggy laughs.  She’s young, younger than Tony really remembers her ever looking.  Free and happy in the country.  “We all have our favorites as much as we would like to pretend we don’t.  We rank all our friends, all our allies on various scales.  Like who would be the best to believe in the event of a trial.  Who you would save first in a burning building,” she rests her hand on Daniel’s knee and smiles knowingly.  “If they were unconscious.”

Daniel’s face is half exasperatedly rueful and half annoyed, “I could get myself out Peggy.”

She pats his knee twice before he captures her hand.  “I’d still come to check you made it out.”

They both stare at each other for a long time, and Tony feels like he should look away as they both laugh, making faces and speaking in their silent Peggy and Daniel way they always had.  Mom had called it their own private spy speak before Peggy had walloped her in the arm.  They meet in a kiss, and Tony looks back down at his folded hands.

They are in each other's space unlike Mom and Dad.  casual touches that flow between them like wine at one of his parents parties.  Daniel watches Aunt Peggy like she is the sun to his earth, and he is always drawn into her orbit.  

Tony, even after all these years, feels at lost as he watches their easiness.  Like Pluto, forever falling in and out of orbit.

Things with pepper were never that easy.  There was always reminders and Jarvis alerting him to dates upcoming, helping him cultivate a relationship that felt more strained and her humoring him as it quietly fell apart.

(He knows he screwed it up.  But she had the company and he had superhero  thing he decided to shoulder long before he fell in love with her.  Maybe it was the potential ease when they were were always in each other's orbits.  But it wasn’t enough to sustain them.

Tony fell in love with things with such ease and ferocity, he broke his heart more often than not.

He was like his father in that respect.  He just hadn’t learned to carve it out just yet.)

There is a scar on his pinkie, so he’s already begun welding.  It’s just the beginning of his injuries and Tony, the one remembering this and not living it for the first time, leans down and strokes the scar on the such smaller hand.  

His younger self flinches, and Peggy laughs.  He glances up and they are breaking apart, soft and happy.  Everything in him tugs at the sight of them like this.  Alive.  Smiling.  

His younger self breaks the peace, there is a shuffle and the younger Tony, the ten year old version of himself asks, ““You’d save me too?”

”Peggy doesn’t laugh then.  She just slides to her knees and takes his fidgeting hands in hers, running a smoothing thumb across his knuckles.  “Right up there with Daniel, darling.” 

She leans in close and kisses his temple and murmurs, “Maybe even before him.  But let’s keep that our secret.”

She pulls back and Tony can see the smile in her eyes.  He can see the way she looks towards Daniel, soft and sweet.  Daniel glances at her, a smile there as well before leaning forward.  He can’t come down to Tony’s height, and Tony knows that.  So when Daniel leans close, Tony does what he always does, stands until he is right there, almost touching the loose part of his pant leg, so Daniel can feel like they are on the same level.  

“I’d come for you first,” he says, slowly and seriously.  “I’d always come for you first.”

Tony, tiny Tony, in the moment beams.  “Me too Uncle Daniel,” he whispers.  His older self almost leans forward, reaching for Daniel before realizing what was happening and straightening.

Daniel leans back and glances fondly at his wife, “Anyways, if you couldn’t get yourself out of something as simple as a burning building, it would have to be someone pretending to be Peggy Carter and not my real wife.”

“Peggy Carter-Sousa,” she corrects, but doesn’t touch the rest of the sentence. 

Tony can’t feel anything, because this is a moment in his mind, not BARF associated.  Something in his brain, and not something that can hurt him, but the slant of the light in the house, the way it catches the crutch Daniel uses, blinds him for a moment, and the sounds of the room fade away sharply as he blinks the glare away to see Peggy and Daniel staring at him.  Old him.  In the memory.

He pushes past a hitched breath at the sight of them looking at him.  “Hi,” he tests, and they both flinch.

“Howard?” Peggy murmurs.

Daniel grabs her hand and squeezes in a sharp motion.  She stands and pulls away, pulling tiny Tony closer to Daniel.  His younger self is staring at him with eyes wide open.  Tony very carefully does not think about butterflies, stepping on them, or even paradoxes because this is a  _ memory _ .  

“Nope,” Tony says, popping the p like he knows Peggy hates.  She narrows her eyes, and he hurries to continue.  “Just old him,” he says pointing to his smaller self.  “Thankfully this is a memory and we’ll all never have lived through this traumatic moment, except me because I was fucking - futzing sorry Uncle Daniel.  Oh come on Aunt Peg, I’ve heard you say so many worse things - with a machine that lets you relive your memories and then it went and crapped out - sorry Uncle Daniel, please don’t pull the gun from the box on the end table, because I think that may hurt even in a dream - and tried to kill me.”

He leans back on his heels and watches as they both stare blankly at him.  All 3.  “Tony?” Peggy breathes, like everything hinges on this moment.  She comes forward and reaches for him and touches his cheek.

Her hand doesn’t sink through and is warm.  Tony leans into it.  He had forgotten how warm she always was.  Not like cookies like Ana, but energy in motion, that kind of warmth.  “Okay, if this is a side effect that isn’t nearly dying from a heart attack, I think I’m okay with BARF again.”  He grins. 

“You are always terrible at naming things,” Peggy says, a sob cracking her voice as she speak.  “What are you doing here?”

“Memory.  BARF.  Craziness.”  He shrugs, and she pulls back, looking for Daniel, who is already standing.  Tiny him is seated in Daniel’s seat.  His eyes are wide as saucers

Daniel pulls him in close.  “You look tired son,” he murmurs.  Something gets stuck in his chest, like his heart can’t move, weighed down by the sudden realization of the grief he has been trying to let go, push past.  But like a boomerang, it circled back and struck again, swift and sharp.  Tony has three abortive tries before he can react, and pulls in Daniel closer, trying to ignore the way he remembers Daniel’s pale smoothed out face in his casket as Aunt Peggy shook like a leaf behind him, even after a glass or two of liquid courage.  She had stood there, cold, frightened and wearily accepting as the days passed in her grief..  

“I am,” he admits.  “More than I ever thought I could be.”

They both pull back, and Tony waves at his smaller self.  “Hey kiddo.  Damn I was cute when I was younger.”  He flinches when Peggy wallops him in the arm.  “Seriously Aunt Peggy?  I’m older than you are right now.  I get seniority in this moment!”

Daniel laughs, loose and free, and Tony had forgotten the sound.  He commits it, the way Daniel’s crow’s feet pull and make his face wrinkle.  He commits _all_ of it to memory.  “You’ll never outrank her son.”

Peggy smiles, arms crossed, in a way that reads, _damn_ _right_.  Tony almost calls her on it, but decides his head is damaged enough, even if are in his own mind.  Even if this is only his subconscious fucking him over for the millionth time.  Just a moment in time, he gets them back.  Whole, hale and just how he remembers the best of them.

_ Look at the diagnostics during this part,  _ Tony thinks, and is grateful FRIDAY is an overcompensating Mother Hen who had him chipped to have more accurate data in cases like this.  Even if it make him feel like a dog.

“I love you too,” he says, desperately trying to commit them back to memory.  These happy versions.  Not the worn down memories he has, Peggy cracking with age and grief as she slowly lost everything that made her Aunt Peggy, piece by piece.  A slow descent that sped up until she only knew him as Howard most days, when she knew his face at all.  Daniel worn down until there was nothing left, trying desperately to keep it all together.  Keep everyone safe.  Before he was the first to go.  The first blow that Tony would weather, until he became numb to them.  

“I just need to say that because you were the last one.  Even for the things you are going to do,” he looks at Peggy and she is bewildered.  That’s okay.  She hasn’t made that call yet, just like he hasn’t messed up a billion times.  He forgives her easily in that moment, just like she did him, time and time again.  “Know that I will always forgive you, okay?”

“Okay,” Peggy says, and Daniel echoes it.  They both stare at him, trying to piece together what could have happened, and Tony wants to laugh.  They couldn’t imagine.  Not yet.  Not ever.

The familiar sense of waking comes, like back when he was using BARF, the sense of a moment fading away as he stood there, clinging to it.  “I love you,” he repeats, because he never told them, never told anyone exactly how much he cared. 

The memory fades, piece by piece, and he is left with Peggy and Daniel standing, desperately reaching for him.  Their joined voices yelling, “ _ Tony _ ” loudly enough to make his ears ring.

He blinks his eyes open, and has to remind himself, he’s in Wakanda.  He’s here to await Thor.  He’s here with the others.  All the others, and he has to close his eyes against the sharp reminder that there are 2 different groups. 

He opens his mouth, “Hey FRIDAY?”  She beeps in the ear piece he has implanted in his ear.  The corresponding mic is right above this adam’s apple.  “I was going to ask you something.”

His dream falls between his fingertips, like sifting sands.  He can’t pull it all together.  Can’t remember everything.  He remembers Peggy’s house, her smiling face.  Daniel’s hand on him.  Warmth.  Summer.  But it fades, moment by moment until they are barely there.  Ghosts in his memory.

“Oh well,” he says, brain still fuzzy from sleep.  “Tell me what’s going on in the world.”

She begins a quiet recitation of the daily news, but he can’t help but think he’s missing something important.  The haze in his brain stays for the rest of the morning.

 

 

From _Pepper_

DOL cleared us of the overtime charges

From  _Pepper_

What did you promise them Tony

From  _Tony_

Nothing

From  _Pepper_

You did something

From  _Tony_

They finally came in on their side of the bargain

From  _Pepper_

Not the accords

From  _Pepper_

That is the only timing that makes sense

From  _Tony_

We need limits

From  _Pepper_

Not like those

From  _Tony_

We have better ones now.

From  _Pepper_

You didn’t have to.

From  _Tony_

I really really did Pep

From _Tony_

Got to fix my own mistakes for once

  
  


 

“So,” Scott Lang says, and Tony’s read up on him, corresponded briefly with Hope Van Dyne.  He doesn’t say anything about FRIDAY currently hacking his phone, securing the line, installing a few key numbers, attaching some files Hope had handed him on a flash drive.   _ From his daughter _ , she had flatly said, but it was her eyes, carefully lined that spoke the length of War and Peace to him.  “Who is Thanos?”

_ Fuck _ , Tony thinks.  _  Why do we keep destroying families here? _  He remembers Obie, Pepper, Wanda after Pietro fell, Natasha watching Clint like he was about to break in New York, Steve without a lodestone in this future, Thor carefully guiding Loki in chains, Vision carefully avoiding all of them.  

“He is a guy Thor told stories of,” Tony starts, and his fingers twitch for something to fiddle with.  Move while he talks.  He doesn’t like their eyes on him, heavy and filled with something he would rather bite down than think about.

“When the night was long and the darkness deep, there came a being made of war and chaos.  He ruins everything with the barest of touches.  He has enslaved entire civilizations, destroyed planets, lays waste to solar systems,” Tony repeats, remembering the heaviness Thor had shouldered as he told the story.  The way even the thought of Thanos ate at him, the way he at looked at Tony at the end and said,  _ I hope you never know this sort of destruction shield brother _ with a light in his eyes that makes Tony think he knew how this would all end.  Everyone on different sides, Thanos in the middle.

He takes in a breath and tries not to think about how it rattles around inside of him, echoing in his rib cage and thundering in his ears until that is all he can hear.  The shuddering as his body continues to breathe.

There is a dead silence, until Peter meets Tony’s gaze, lenses wide.  “Why?”

They were always going to end up like this, he knows now.  Always.

“He did what all powerful men do,” Tony slides his hands into his pockets and shrugs.  “He fell in love and got so twisted in it that he lost sight of who and what he wanted.”

There is a tiny gasp, and Tony slides his eyes upwards and continues.  “He fell in love with a being called Death.  She wasn’t interested.  So he decided to show her he aligned with her cause, was good enough, and he began to conquer planets.  When she payed him no mind, he killed thousands.  When that didn’t work, he destroyed solar systems.”

“Then he heard of the Infinity gems.  Stones in which he could control Space, Time, Reality, Power, Mind, and Soul, he thought, this will impress her.  And he went searching for them,” Tony pauses, and looks back at them, watching him, carefully measuring his seriousness.  “He has four of them already.”  

“Are you drunk?” Clint asks, and Tony has to keep from flinching.  The story is fantastical.  Outlandish.   Not something he would tell.  But all he can see is the glow in Thor’s eyes as the storm rumbled overhead.   _ It’s always what comes after the thunder that I fear,  _ Loki had said once.

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,” Tony whispers.  “Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

There is a tiny idea.  Just at the edge of his memory, something nagging.  Something saying,  _ remember me Tony.  Remember this moment _ .  

“Well if Thor is the actual God of thunder and I mean Wanda does actual magic,” Rhodey says.  “Shit this could be real.  Some conqueror in love with actual Death.  Shit who does that?  Falls in love with Death?”

“Of all the things to not end well,” Peter adds.  “That level of Romeo and Juliet except Juliet hates you.  Shakespeare does not have a good analogy for this.”

He thinks of that summer he spent alone at Peggy and Daniel.  The way the sun hit the windows.  That one day his dad was there and then wasn’t there the afternoon.

“Which two are missing?” Natasha queries, hands held tightly at her hips.  

Vision meets everyone’s gaze.  “Mine is the Mind Stone.  It resonates with the Time.  It has to be on Earth somewhere.”

“How the fuck do you know that?” Sam bursts out.

Vision tilts his head.  “Because the stone is what brought me to life.”  Wanda grabs his hand and clutches it tightly, and Tony let’s his eyes slide away.  “I simply know.”

_ Oh _ , he thinks.   _ Oh no.  _

“We need a plan,” Steve says.  “We need to get ready.  Train for this.  We have to work together.”  

“I disagree,” Bruce says quietly.  “We have fairytales to know what he is like and what is coming.  There is no way we can train for this.”

“We have time,” Tony says as he finally pulls out his phone.  He types out a message to Fry, pausing before hitting send.  “Thor warned us so we could prepare.”

“What about Thor, is he coming?” Peter asks.  

A long silence hangs between all of them.  They know the cost of what it would take to send out a message like that in a war.  They know the price would be high.  How high...time would tell.  But Tony, Tony could guess.

He presses send and slides the phone back into his pocket.  

“We need to start training now,” he says.  Quiet.  He raises his eyes to meet Steve’s.  “All of us.”

“Agreed,” Steve says.  The rest quietly shift.  

“Tomorrow,” T’Challa finalizes.  “Tonight, we celebrate being together for the first time as Avengers - all of us.” His eyes slide across the room, delivering a judgement too heavy to say differently.

“Dinner at 7 in your weirdly modern dining room?” Tony queries.  T’Challa breaks a little and smiles, just barely at the edges.  

“Yes.”

Tony straightens from the slump he has fallen into, and hums.  “Okay, meet you there.” He turns on his heel and strides out of the room before it suddenly bursts into noise.  Head spinning and thoughts heavy.  His phone vibrates with a response, then a sharp vibration from his watch.  

_ Oh _ , he thinks as the thought settles into him.  A tiny idea. It could blossom more.  Oh.

 

 

From _Tony_

I think something is wrong with me

From _F.R.I.D.A.Y._

So do I boss

From _Tony_

Run all tests you can

From _F.R.I.D.A.Y._

Yes boss

From _Tony_

Send a copy of my will to my tablet

 

 

It’s past midnight, and Steve can’t sleep.  Memories of blue, bone soaking cold chase him awake these days.  Those last ten minutes before the ice haunt him every morning, unease crawling down his spine.  He can’t get them out of his mind. If he thinks about it, he hasn’t been able to sleep well since right before all this went down.  Back in the compound, before the Accords conference, before a lot of things.

He runs a hand over his face and roughly in his hair.  The serum can only do so much, but snatches of shut eye are starting to wear him down.  His eyes ache, and if he closes them for too long they burn. His body feels weighed down and makes him feel more scattered, less rational, always on edge.

It’s getting irresponsible, the amount of weariness he has in his limbs as he races to disaster zones and tries to stop firefights.  Trying to save some people when he can, and hope the nagging guilt dogging his steps (right behind the ice) will ease with another life saved, a grateful smile. Steve knows he is chasing a replacement feeling, and it’s not enough.  It’s never enough.

(Because if it did, it would mean that his thing, the small flowering plant in his chest that had been fed with every smile Tony has for him, claps on the shoulder, the silent side by side calm as they shared a space - all of that…

Well, that feeling, that plant, would have to be dead.  And Steve can’t ever begin to think it’ll go away.  It’s been here for almost 6 years now, his constant companion in this new world. This ache in his chest.

He doesn’t know if he is grateful for it or hates it.)

His bed is inviting, comfortable, but still, he gets up and heads to the kitchen.  He knows lying there won’t do anything.  It never does anything.

Steve nearly misses him in the dark, but in the corner, staring out at the glass windows is Tony.  He’s curled into one of the larger modern styles chairs, head leaning against the cushion as he watches the city below.  “Tony,” he voices, and regrets it the second Tony tenses and uncurls until his spine is too straight and nothing about him reminds Steve of the relaxed version of Tony he used to know.  Who would blink at him softly and smile like he hung the moon and the stars.

But thinking about that hurts too much, so Steve turns away from it.  Looks outside too, until the silence between them becomes awkward.  Hurts like a ragged wound reopened, even.  

It reminds him off the plane, about to go down, and the knowledge sank into him.  How knowing  _ this was it  _ was just a calm peace, leadening him limbs in that moment.  He was choosing  _ this _ , to chase after Buck, save the world.  That everything, every future he and Buck used to whisper about in their room, every moment he imagined by Peggy’s right hand, the promises of places to visit that he let Howard talk him into.  It was gone after this.  The thought sank into his bones and he nearly didn’t push down, didn’t go through with it.

_ I have to _ he had thought in that moment, the last of the frantic energy draining from his system.  

_ No you don’t, _ the dark, terrified side of him thought.  Suicide is unforgivable.

His breath had caught in his throat about not being to be able to see his mother again, Bucky.  “It’s okay,” he whispered directing the plane into the water.  “They’ll forgive me.”

And then it was too cold to think.

“I’ll be going then.”

His head snaps up, and Steve comes back to himself in one of the many dens here in Wakanda.  Tony stands, gathering a piece of plastic and folding it up.  He’s frozen, watching him move, the careful, cautious moves of someone who doesn’t know if they are allowed to be here.  Not wanting to frighten a rabid animal.  

_ When did I become someone you were scared to be in the same room with?  _ Steve wants to ask, but he knows the moment.  The one when he desperately kept hitting at the arc reactor, thinking, _ if I make this fight stop, maybe he’ll listen to me.  Maybe we can talk.  Maybe we can  _ fix this _.   _

And he can’t help himself, has to know why, has to know  _ something _ .  “Why didn’t you tell us,” Steve asks.  It stumbles out of his mouth in fits and spurts.  Like it’s struggling.  He feels like  _ he _ is struggling, like there something rising in him, putting his hackles up, making him angrier with every beat he sits there.

Tony laughs, careless and it hurts.  More than Steve wants to admit.  “When would you have listened?  You were on a crusade.  You were going to save Barnes.  You didn’t have time for any one else.”

_ No _ , Steve wants to protest.   _ I had time for you. For sitting with you as you worked late hours, looking for Bucky, for when you needed a break, for when you wanted to talk about the team, the improvements, who we could be, when you wanted to talk about everything else but _ \- he cuts himself off, realizes he doesn’t have the right to say that any more.  Even think it really.  He opens his mouth to say  _ I’m sorry _ but  _ \-  _ “You can’t tell me you believe in the Accords.  In this legal document that handcuffs us, leashes us even.” - comes out instead.

He immediately regrets the words and thinks,  _ Tony, I’m sorry _ .  He doesn’t open his mouth because he will make it worst.  He only ever makes it worse.

And why, why can’t he say what he wants to?  Why can’t he talk to Tony like they used to, before all of this went down.  Why is it just him, breaking Tony down, because he can see it in Tony’s face.  Can see it in the way he avoids him.  

Tony's smile is soft, full of sweet things.  It’s disarming, and Steve...listens for the first time to his words.  Like a buzzing is receding from his head, like he can  _ hear _ .  “Did you know what I would have done for you?  For all of you?”

Something clutches in Steve.  Something reaches out and grabs at his throat and holds.  He can’t speak.

Tony tilts his eyes, meeting his gaze.  He knows what Steve can’t push out.  He’s always known, and Steve is gutted with that.  Split open and bleeding out for the entire world to see.  

“I would have destroyed everything I had.  My legacy, my world.  I almost ripped it apart for you.”  Tony’s tone is even, but Steve can’t breathe, can’t get air in his lungs.  He feels small again, gasping for every breathe like it’s his last.  “I wanted to keep you safe.  All of you.  That’s all I wanted.”

“I’m glad I didn’t.”  Tony utters.  It's like a weight is lifted off his shoulders, and Steve is watching as Tony gets lighter with every word he says.  “I _ am glad I didn’t. _ ”  His smile is  so soft and warm that Steve wants to get lost in it.  “Isn’t that a bitch?”

His smile widens, and it’s a bit edged this time, like a jagged piece of glass.  “I think I finally got over you.”

Steve aches as he tries to wrap himself back up, tight lines and sharp edges in contrast to Tony's casual lean. (Both are a deception.) (Neither knows that)  “Oh,” he says.  “Tony, I never-”

Tony straightens.  “No worries Cap. I know.” He walks out of the room, and Steve watches him.

_ Of course _ , he thinks.  Of course Tony always knew.  It hurts more that he thinks about it.  It taints the memories of them staring up at the compound, sitting across from each other at meals, laughing during training, sharing space in the lab.  

Steve takes in a breath,  _ one, two, three, four,  _ before straightening his shoulders and moving onto the next room, ignoring the emotional wreckage they both left behind them.    

(The plant in his chest withers a bit that night, but it’s still there, fighting through it all, and Steve knows it’s the worst of all the options.  

But he still holds onto it with both hands.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's short, but yay words?


	9. synthetic transaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can we be open and honest?” Steve asks. He stands there in grey sweatpants, hair wet and long enough to curl around the edges, and at one point, Tony would tease him about that. He doesn’t have that right any more.
> 
> Instead, Tony shrugs and takes a sip. “Ask a question, and we’ll see.”

Synthetic transactions are tests run in real time through a set of action on objects someone is monitoring.   A developer would use synthetic transactions  to measure the performance of a monitored object and to see how application works when synthetic stress is placed on it.

Part of a good testing strategy is to include synthetic transaction to run multiple times a day in order to tell the developers if something is down or attacking an application, like a hack.

 

 

 

The second Tony walks into the dining area, most conversations stops.  Peter and Shuri continue, oblivious (intentionally or not, he’s not sure), discussing the laws of physics with gravitonium introduced into the world, and if that’s cheating or not.  But the rest is silence. 

“Is it at least something interesting?” he asks out loud.  Clint snorts, shoulders shaking, and that tell Tony it isn’t, and he strives not to care.  He knew they would talk about him, knows this behavior is something everyone analyzes. His picture has been in the papers since he have 5.  Nothing about this moment - the silence, the reaction, anything - is new to him. 

He steps around the table until he finds an open seat  beside Peter with Bruce on the other side. Shuri smiles brightly at him before turning back to the vibrant discussion by placing silverware to demonstrate her point to Peter’s stunned silence.  T’Challa sits on her right at the head of the table and favors him with a fond smile as well. Tony nods and takes the seat, searching around the table until he finds Rhodey next to Sam, heads tilted together in an intense discussion, with Rhodey speaking more than Sam, who silently nods along.  Vision is by Rhodey’s side with Wanda at his, easily chatting about some experience in the Wakanda capital market. 

It’s just as the food gets served that he catches Steve’s gaze from the other end of the table.  It’s intense, and after all of this time, Tony’s not sure how to read it. He’s never been that good at reading Steve’s faces when he chose to hide his emotions, and it seems like time has made it worse.  

Instead he rolls his shoulders and turns to the person across from him, Wanda. “How are you these days?” she asks.  

“Better,” he admits.  “You?”

She smiles, and it’s less dreamy than she was the last time he was here.  “I feel more grounded,” she replies as she sneaks a look to Vision. Tony watches as her smile softens and the lines around her eyes ease until she looks younger, much younger than her age.  “Thank you,” she adds.

“Huh?” Tony says around a forkful of meat.  He swallows quickly before continuing, “Why are you thanking me?”  Because the last time they were talking, she hadn’t had a nice word to say to him.

It’s then that he notices the differences.  Her hair is darker, smile bigger. She’s dressed in shades of red, in something it looks like the Queen Mother had a hand in getting her.  But she’s at ease in the native garb, and he wonders if this is what three years can do to a person. What small evolution she has had over the time, and how much Vision had to do with it.

“I get,” she pauses, searching for words, “lost sometimes, ever since HYDRA.  Pietro used to ground me, but since -” her voice wobbles, and she takes in a breath before continuing.  “Since. I’ve been having a hard time staying in the moment. I didn’t realize it, but having my own space, something to do, patterns - they help.  You helped. You didn’t have to, but you did.” She meets his eyes, and it feels like she can see down to his soul, and something in him yearns to reach out and grab her hand.  “Most wouldn’t. But you did.”

He swallows past the feeling and replies, “I owed you.  It all happened to you because of me.”

“We all make our own way in life,” she returns firmly.  “My mother use to say, people affect the path we take, but ultimately it’s ours to shape and find.”

“I like that,” Tony says, wistful.  “My mother had a saying she liked to repeat.   Chi non va non vede, chi non vede non sa e chi non sa se lo prende sempre in culo.”  The italian falls clumsily from his lips, but he can still hear her throwing it at his father.   

Wanda mouths the words before asking, “What does it mean?

“If you don’t go, you won’t see; if you don’t see, you won’t know; if you don’t know, you’ll take it in the ass every time,” Tony laughs.  “She had an interesting sense of humor.”

“She sounds amazing,” Wanda responds seriously, and Tony knows the compliment is meant as heartily as it can be.  Vision places his hand over hers and she, unlooking, tilts her hand until their fingers are intertwined. 

Tony watches, and for once, doesn’t look away.  She notices the attention and blushes lightly. “You know,” he muses.  “I think this is the longest we have gone without breaking into an argument.”

Wanda tilts her head. “It’s easier,” she admits.  “Speaking to you now that I am aware of the influence.”

“What influence?” Tony questions, before he notices the room is a pale red.  The walls are red, the floor is a rolling red wave that never seems to cease, and there are wisps in the air, like the ones she uses to attack.  When he looks around, Tony sees that no one else is moving. “Wanda,” he says. “What’s going on?”

She’s suddenly standing, an invisible wind throwing her hair around and pulling her suit, hair billowing behind her.  “You know Tony.” She glows with the power of it.

Then there is an hand on his arm, and he turns away from the sight of Scarlet Witch at full power.  Instead in the dark, it’s Wanda, sleep rumpled and clad in loose pajamas. Her hand on his arm is like a brand, and he has to his as she insists,  “Wake up Tony!” It doesn’t sound like the first time she’s said it.

He starts awake in the dark room, panting.  The room is glowing outside, and the clock tells him he accidentally fell asleep instead of attending the dinner.  He pulls out the portable holographic board and begins to break down the feedback during the dream.

He’s at it for hours, looking at the heart rate spikes, pressure, neural activity, sleep cycles.  But it’s all the same right before he woke up - unknown data. 

 

 

 

From _Tony_

Did I miss anything?

From _honeybear_

Nothing big.  I checked on you and realized you were asleep and decided to leave you.

From _Tony_

Thanks

  
  
  


The morning starts simply.  Tony nurses a cup of coffee in the large sitting room, watching as the city slowly wakes up and begins to take on the day.  The others join and sit in clusters while Tony sits apart and watches those outside the windows instead of those behind him, silent as listens to them.

Finally, after a few hours Steve approaches him, and Tony can see out of the corner of his eyes, the other stand around like they are ready for a fight to burst out.  He carefully keeps his body language open and relaxed, trying to diffuse the tension. This isn’t what he is here for. He’s here for a unified front, and that means being able to work with Steve.  

He knew this when he called in the plane.  

Steve hands him a new cup of steaming coffee, just the way he had made for Tony in the days right before it all blew up.  It almost hurts as much as a punch to the sternum from Steve without the suit. Tony turns until he faces Steve, and takes the mug in both hands.    

“Can we be open and honest?” Steve asks.  He stands there in grey sweatpants, hair wet and long enough to curl around the edges, and at one point, Tony would tease him about that.  He doesn’t have that right any more.

Instead, Tony shrugs and takes a sip. “Ask a question and we’ll see.”

Steve’s face goes pained, and he waits a moment to see if Tony will laugh or make a joke about  _ you already asked one and I was honest _ \- Tony can see it in the way he holds himself.  But not this time. Tony waits him out before Steve blurts out, “Why were you there in Germany?  Just to fight us and take Bucky in?” He immediately tenses like he is there for a fight.

There is a tenseness in the room like everyone is waiting for something to blow up.  Like a causal question to escalate into a full blown fist fight, and Tony has to push past his annoyance that they think this of him, because most keep him in sight, not Steve.  

“I wasn’t there to fight you,” Tony replies.  “All I wanted was to know what was going on and then be able to help clear up the air.  I wasn’t sure what was going on. I thought Sleeping Beauty may have kidnapped you from Peg’s funeral.”

Steve stills, like the fight is draining out of him.  “ _ Oh _ .”  He looks like he wants peace between them to last, and Tony is weary down to his bones and glad of it. Thankful.  Want to bury this while they focus on the bigger picture.

He has to keep from chuckling.  Fury would be proud he finally became the team player SHIELD always wanted him to be.  

“Then why the hell did you bring a kid into a superhero fight?” Steve asks, but the rancor is pulled from the question.  It’s just like back in the day, where they used to quiz each other about things, choices - trying to get to know each other, trying to find a level playing field.  Still, it gets Tony’s back up. 

He doesn’t know why he goes from 0 to 360, but he does.  It’s like an alarm is going off in his head, and the watch around his wrist buzzes insistently.  He looks down and sees the medical alert from Fry about something going on. He tries to breath through it, tries to count to 10, but only gets to three before opening his mouth.

“Honestly?” Tony bites back, and it takes all he has in him to keep going.  To sit here and take this argument when he half of him is screaming,  _ why weren’t you here for me?  Why are you trying to villainize me?  What did I do to make you hate me? _ He isn’t sure why it rises up in him.  He thought he had gotten past this. He thought he had stopped caring,  _ finally _ .

But all he can see is Siberia, the cold, the lazy way his thoughts went in and out as he waited for the helicopter.  The way the breakdown of his medical condition after from FRIDAY. The way Rhodey had looked at him and said, “ _ Tony _ .”

“Yes,” Steve returns, and it hurts looking at him, righteous and knowing exactly where to hit but not doing it.  It’s Tony this time. 

The watch buzzes once this time, and the alert has disappeared from the face.  He thinks about Siberia this time, and the memories are fuzzy, like he doesn’t know the details, even though seconds ago he could see them in crystal clear clarity.

He pushes the thought away as a few more people trickle in.  Tony sees Peter’s mask clad face peering his way, and Tony sighs, knowing the honest route is the only one he can take, but it’ll hurt with the casual damage it’ll bring to others.  

“I had no one else, and Spidey, kid, I love you and know what you are about to say, but you weren’t ready there.  I gave you a suit, put you at my side and made you a target. Because ever since I flew out of that damn cave in Afghanistan, anyone who stands by me is a target,” Tony says. Peter watches him, lenses wide with the mask wrinkled up to show his mouth and the slackjaw look there.   “Steve, I had  _ no one else _ , and Ross was going to use lethal force and take you in dead or alive if I didn’t go and bring you in.”

“The serum,” Steve starts, but Tony cuts him off.

“There are a lot of things the serum doesn’t stop.  A nuke is one of them.”

The silence aches between them.  “He wouldn’t,” Sam says, like it accidentally falls out when everyone turns to him.  He looks sheepish to have gotten in the middle, but presses on, “There were civilians.”

Tony grins at them, bitter enough he can taste it in the words.  “Then you clearly don’t know Ross.”

Bruce steps up, and everyone’s attention slides to him, except Barnes who is still quietly watching Tony.  Like those days where he came and slipped into the lab with a smoothie. Silent, like he is measuring Tony’s soul and found wanting.  “That’s exactly Ross’ style,” he adds.

“How would you know?” Wanda utters.  When Tony catches sight of her, she looks like the girl in his dream from last night, more firmly on her feet, but also half a second away from falling back into her head.  Vision reaches out, and holds her hand, and Tony doesn’t know when that happened, doesn’t know what to do, and looks away. He has a flash of Wanda’s glowing red eyes from the dream when he stares at her a moment too long.  The image overlaps her face whenever he looks too closely at her, so he looks away, blinking away the memory.

Bruce grimaces and looks away, shamed faced.  Rhodey reaches out and grabs his shoulder and Bruce leans into the contact.

It’s Natasha who says, “Ross was once Bruce’s father in law.”

There is a hush in the room.  Bruce doesn’t talk much from before the Hulk.  He talks about India when he worked with children, various relaxation techniques not limited yoga, tea and food, along with his joy for new breakthroughs in medical research, and if pushed, sometimes his childhood.  He talks and talks about things, but rarely about himself. Knowing there are other facets to these people they fight besides, work besides, live besides is something most people forget. All of them, Tony knows, carve out pieces of themselves and keep them hidden, but Bruce in his calm presence, is one people overlook.  

This is one of Bruce’s pieces, and people have forgotten with his openness there are pieces they are missing.  Natasha stays by Bruce, hand on his shoulder, and he doesn’t shrug away from it. 

When Bruce shifts uncomfortably, Tony steps up and says, “The Accords require those who have signed to stand up and help the government in superhero level threats they are qualified to respond to.  But that’s changed since.” He looks to T’Challa, and they both nod in respect to the other for the work they both put into the changes. The long hours, the numerous debates, the phone calls filled with threats and intimidation.  Everything.

“Were you ever going to tell us about the gun to your head on the Accords?” Scott asks.  He stands in jeans, arms crossed, but he doesn’t look angry. He looks measured, like an operative trying to evaluate a situation.  It’s such a familiar look on an unfamiliar face, Tony almost laughs at the absurdity of the moment.

Tony shrugs, “There wasn’t a gun in the equation when we talk about the Accords.”

Clint scoffs from his perch on the second story catwalk.  He has his forearms resting against the gleaming metal railing as he looks down on them all.  “Nat said there were some correlations in events.”

“I had 99 problems,” Tony retorts as he peers up.  He stands and puts the coffee mug down before looking at the other in the room.  “But guns were never in the equation.”

It’s silent in the room, buzzing with a frantic energy that makes Tony want to run.  It’s Peter though, who looks at him and says, “Just tell them.”

Because this isn’t new for the ones who came with him.  He had suspected Natasha would suss it all out eventually.  He had left enough trails that someone of her caliber would figure it out.  Sharon had, but she knew Tony better than almost anyone in the world at this point.  

The plane ride had been long, but Tony had finally spilled the connections some had caught on and others hadn’t.  They had seen enough under the covers in the past few years to figure it out. To understand exactly what was going on.  Why he had done what he had. Then he had offered to stand down if they wanted. 

They hadn’t

Bruce had placed a hand on the red and blue clad shoulder, Natasha still at his side.  Peter shifts until he leans in to Bruce’s hand, so Bruce can wrap his arm around the kid’s shoulder and pull him close.  Vision meets his eyes and inclines his head silently, and Rhodey shifts closer to him, pats him once on the back before crossing his arms in front of him.  Ready in case he needs to shift into action.

Tony takes in a breath and asks, “What do you know?”

“This,” Natasha waves an arm in front of one of the glass windows, so it darkens a bit.  Articles upon articles pull up and rearrange into a glowing holographic timeline. It begins around the Ultron era.

“You’re missing the beginning,” Tony utters, and feels gutted with how many of his secrets they already know.  He feels on trial, and he can’t use deflection and snark to bluff his way out.

Being honest, to this crowd of people, is hard.  Harder than he thought. But he refuses to go into detail again.  Not every piece. He’s not even sure of all the details any more, it’s like a blur.  Maybe that’s age and time, or maybe BARF is causing issues again.

He pushes past that thought and begins, “SI was underwater decades ago, back in the 50’s.  Dad thought the only way to keep it going was to get the big military contracts on the books.  He had some roadshow after the war. He showed off what he could do with SSR - baby SHIELD back in the day, and there was interest.  But the Nazi scientist they had turned had the government thinking they could do okay without SI.” 

He pauses, and can see the face Steve is making.  This desperate disbelief of something like this. “They were trying to combat the rumors about Hitler getting out alive with his lieutenants.  With Mengele and Eichmann in Argentina, there were rumors. The eventual camp discoveries in Chile made it more credible, but it was Argentine dictatorship leanings that had everyone concerned back then.  The US thought that if they had their own teams, they could figure out what the Fourth Reich was planning.” [1]

“So Dad got himself wrapped up in some bad contracts to keep the military involved.  We ended up bleeding money by the end, even though the PR is what helped SI skyrocket.  As dad expanded into other sectors the ‘we help protect the soldiers protect you’ tagline was some of the best marketing campaigns we ever had.”  He takes in a breath before continuing, already longing for a glass of something, even water. “But there was a way the original contracts had the military and SI wrapped up in this hellacious marriage with the military as the person with the most power.  That was the beginning of some pretty bad contracts. I mean deadline and dollar wise, but what we were building...” Tony sighs. “We built some bad things to fulfill the contracts.” 

There is a growing look of concern in the faces before him, but it’s Steve that gets him.  He’s not angry because Tony knows that face all too well. He’s just worried, like right after Ultron levels of worried, because this is the sort of stuff that happened while he was asleep, and Tony know,  _ knows _ that sometimes Steve thinks about if he hadn’t frozen.  If there was a way he could have jammed the steering column in place, been able to tell everyone where he was and waited.  

He’s got his strategy hat on, and Tony knows Steve is thinking the five hundred ways he could have solved it.  He could have rolled his eyes at Howard and said,  _ You are better than this Howard,  _ could have used his Captain America brand to endorse SI and helped the entire thing skyrocket.  He could have saved Barnes years earlier. He could have married Peggy and had a million little blond, blue eyed babies who could have said water like their mother. 

Sometimes, Tony wishes he had never gone down.  Steve could have fixed five billion things in his life, but then, Tony wouldn’t have…

Tony doesn’t want that.  He knows that.

He looks away from Steve’s face, finds a good place on the wall and continues, “But as long as the technology was new enough to not be covered under the initial scope of the agreement between the DOD and SI, we got off pretty well.”  He grins a little. “I’m very good at finding loopholes.”

There are some chuckles, rueful more than anything.  Like the story is getting better, but it’s not. It’s just the beginning of his mistakes - not even Obie’s, because even with everything, Obie walked that tightrope with the government very carefully, until he got greedy and went over the edge.

“But that initial contract is problematic.  As long as a Stark ran SI, we were going to have issues.  They would try and pressure us to make guns and weapons, because when dad was trying to save his legacy, he also sacrificed us.  So when I gave CEO seat to Pepper, that nullified the contract. But the government was willing to sit back as long as we were dating, because if and when I married her, Pepper would be a Stark and the noose would be back around our necks.”

“When Pepper and I finally called it off - really called it all off - back in 2015, that’s where the we started with the threats.  The ‘you signed a contract’ and blah blah calls. I ignored them, and could ignore them because Manhattan had a villian, the missions we ran, had villains.  But we were starting to cause collateral damage and that was getting hard to push back on. And then,” he pauses. “And then I had Ultron. And that villain was me.”

A glass floats to him, clear liquid inside the red rimmed mist,  and Tony takes it gratefully with a smile at Wanda before adding, “So I put the lawyers on it.  There were arguments back and forth, and I knew we needed a shield of some sort, especially since the organization was amassing terrible press in the wake of the HYRDA reveal and public opinion was turning on us.  On  _ all  _ of us.  We needed something to show we knew we weren’t doing this right and were trying to correct it.  So when the Accords floated up, I latched onto it.”

It’s a slow roll of hard looks, when Tony braves a glance back at the crowd. It’s the exact same faces around that dream table as he tried to push past his headache, and it almost feels like his ears are ringing again.  The doubling of sound in his ears until it just aches everywhere between his ears.

It feels like he is falling apart at the seams.  Like there is something in him coming apart from the inside out.  Humans aren’t built for what he is going under. 

Maybe he miscalculated on the arc reactor.  

Maybe it’s BARF.  

Tony’s not sure any more.

“It was worse than what you saw,” he states, rubbing a hand on his thigh to keep him focusing.  When he looks back up, Bruce is watching him, concerned. Rhodey too. “International registry teams hunting downing anyone who was a vigilante, and that wordings was so vague they could have gone after a good samaritan helping someone out of a burning building.  Required call ups for military missions if necessary, drafts under a different name. Chemical sterilization for anyone registered under a super classification. Safety chips for those in service with the ability to have a ranking members set it off at their discretion - brain bombs with another name.  Mind control for anyone named a war criminal. A lot of nasty nasty things that were vaguely written so Ross could get away with murder.”

“You latched onto  _ that _ ?” Scott asks, mouth agape.

“It was a shitty solution,” he admits, “but you can change the blueprints if people like the core idea.  It helped that the answers were grim and vague. A little editing and wordsmithing? That part is easy.”  

“The fact we got it down to a registration and working with the UN was a minor miracle in that first draft I brought you.  Not that you could tie it back to me,” Tony grins then, sharp and angry. Because there is so much he isn’t saying. So many hours he sacrificed, connections he burned that had taken years to protect these guys, and they didn’t get it.  But he likes it better that way. It also keeps him useful to them. Not disposable. “PACs and morally compromised lobbyists are the best ways around American laws.”

He takes a sip, before setting the glass back down. “Ross started to see though my plan and didn’t like it a single bit, but by that point in time, I had enough approval publically from over 100 countries.  I needed the Avengers on board in order to push through the next round of edits, but then you,” he nods to Steve, “went rogue, so I had to come up with another plan.”

“I believe scrambled is the correct word to use in this instance,” T’Challa adds.  “You were a little desperate when you asked for my help.”

Tony laughs.  “A little is a nice way to put how our conversation went down.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this?’ Steve asks finally, and his tone is filled with so much heavy meaning that Tony has to look away.  “You could have just told us this.”

“You didn’t want to hear it,” Tony replies, and it’s not as sharp as he could make it.  “You never wanted to hear the things I saw coming. ‘It was just something Wanda put in your head Tony, we’re not going to die’ remember that?”

Wanda full body flinches away at that comment.  Clint puts a hand on her arm, but doesn’t say anything.  And Steve winces himself and looks away. “I thought you should focus more on the short term plans than the decade out ones.”

“I’m a futurist,” Tony says sharply.  “Do you even know what that means?”

“No,” Steve replies.  “But it seems like it’s a lot of making assumptions about people and how the world is going to come apart at the seams.”

Tony has to choke back on laughter.  “You don’t get it. You never did.” He laughs then, before sighing and leaning in his direction around the table.  “I have to educate myself every day on the numerous transformations happening in technology, which isn’t easy since everyone has a technology slant these days. I have to see and understand the five billion steps people are skipping around when they talk about their problems and say, ‘Here is a solution’.  I can’t do that until I break down the problem and figure out something or somehow to fix it. I spend every day, all day, trying to solve problems before they hit us. That’s why my company is profitable, that’s why you had the equipment you needed in a fight, that’s why I interact with people the way I do.  I’m mitigating every problem I know about before you even realize it could be one. And that’s not even including the emotion slant to it.”

It hangs there, for a moment, as the words sink in for everyone. Tony runs a hand through his hair, and huff as he looks down, trying to ignore his racing heart and the way people’s faces are transforming as they read between the lines on various levels.  “138,” Rhodey mutters under his breath, but with the silence in the room, everyone can hear it. Some faces twist at the words, but others, like Natasha and Clint have some vague understanding of the meaning behind it.

Vision’s face is the worst, because he knows.  He knows exactly what Tony has done. That’s the JARVIS backbone of his neural network right there.  It understands exactly what Tony does, because it’s seen him in action. He knows why Tony does it, how frequently he breaks down problems to his AIs.  How many scenarios are stored on the private servers. How many blueprints of solutions, crisscrossing webs of paths for various levels of destruction.  He knows, and tightly keeps his mouth shut. 

But Wanda understands somehow and leans closer, put her arm through his and leans her head on Vision’s shoulder and Tony aches.  Tony aches because he misses JARVIS and sometimes wishes JARVIS was still here and not Vision, but when he sees this. This simple moment, he knows he’s wrong to think that.  Wanda deserves this. JARVIS was growing to crave companionship. This is where they were always going. Eventually. 

Inevitably.  

Tony stands there and tries not to look at the prosthetics on Rhodey’s legs.  “I have to be prepared,” he replies. “You all need me to be prepared. The world needs us to be ready for the next fight.”  

“No,” T’Challa responds.  He leans out and puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder.  “We need to be ready. We need to prepare. It’s not all on you, my friend.”

Tony laughs, and it’s sadly surprised.  “That’ll be a first.”

“I promise,” T’Challa intones.  “I will help you bear the weight.”

“We all will,” Nat says, and Tony tears away from his study of T’Challa to see the entire room smiling there.  Something about the entire scene makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle with discomfort. “Tony,” she urges.  “Let us in. Let us know.” 

Once, he would make a joke, talk about how he would just drink some more coffee and he’d pull it off.  No need to bother anyone. There is a smile he has perfect for this. Instead he stare at Rhodey whose eyes look so old, because he realizes it wasn’t just for 138 missions.

“Okay,” he says.  “Okay.”

  
  
  


From _Sharon_

Where should i be heading

From _Tony_

I don’t know if i want to expose you to this

From _Sharon_

I’m a big girl

From  _Tony_

Don’t need no man?

From  _Sharon_

Depends

From  _Sharon_

But you need me.  I can tell.

From  _Tony_

Yeah

From  _Tony_

Wakanda

From  _Sharon_

Panther’s Den.  That’s a choice

From  _Tony_

Ha.  I can get you clearance.

From  _Sharon_

It’s more fun to infiltrate.  

From  _Sharon_

I’ll use your name if I need to

From  _Tony_

Ah, get my in trouble with my host

From  _Tony_

Thanks

From  _Sharon_

Always

From  _Tony_

Be careful

From  _Sharon_

Always

 

He’s in the middle of a lab, barely 16, and his father is hovering watching him as he shows off DUM-E.  “I mean Dad, look at what we can do with building machine learning into a robotics. We can have sentient robots that  can help contain tasks.” 

DUM-E runs into a wall, and he winces.  “I’m still working on it, but I think it would be really useful to put me in the robotics lab now.  I think I can do the most advancement from there. We can bring SI out of the military era and into the automation era, or even biomedical.”

Howard’s lips are pulled so firmly down, they look like they have always been that way.  “You’re getting your degree. You’re getting a masters, and then we’ll discuss what’s next.”

“Why?” Tony argues.  “I don’t enjoy school and the structure.  I want to build things, and look at DUM-E.  He is just the beginning of what I can do.”

He faintly remembers his argument.  He remembers more about going to MIT angry and bitter and trying to prove to everyone he was smarter.  He didn’t do well those first two years, not until he started releasing he was 18, had too much money and could charm anyone by using their vanity in his favor.  Academia was like that.

He later realized it easily translated into being the Tony Stark everyone expected.  

“How sure are you that  you can go beyond this, beyond this ‘robot’?” Howard asks, and DUM-E, as if sensing the topic of the conversation, deflates a little.  

Tony, on the other hand is just angry, so angry that he is basically bursting from it. “Because I can see it.  I can see that world Jarvis says you evangelized about at the Stark Expo. I know how to get there. I just have a few patches to work out, but I can build an AI, then flying cars, all of it can come quickly thereafter.  It’s just a problem you need to work through.”

The greatest thing that broke their relationship, Tony knows now, is that he could see things father couldn’t.  He isn’t sure if it’s because his father was more focused on the SSR and those problems and SI eventually ended up becoming second, but he could see connections that were beyond what his father could see.

Jarvis admitted this years before Howard’s death, quiet in his explanation that some men don’t like that.  Men like his father liked looking his limitations in the eye less, especially when you knew it could be your replacement.  

(Peggy had worded it differently.  “He was a bastard when it came to some things.  You were one of them. He knew he should have been better.  Wanted to be better, but he couldn’t. It was just against him.  He used you as a chess piece instead of a son, and we argued about it.”  

She had smoked a full cigarette before adding, “Maria did too.  She almost left him once or twice over it.”

“Why?” he asked one dark night after Sharon had gone to bed.

“Why not?” Peggy had countered, and then refused to speak on the topic again.)

“You need a degree,” Howard repeats, flatly.

“Like the degree you have?” Tony retorts.  “You just started building things, and you did okay.  I could just do the exact same thing you did. Start building whatever I want and go from there.”

There is a pause and Howard begins to grin, and Tony knows this grin.  Knows this as the grin of a spider catching a fly in their trap. The look of a long con.  “Remember when you begged me to let you intern at 14?” 

Tony pauses before answering, “Yes.”

“The contract you signed said that everything you produced until we terminated it, is owned by SI,” Howard reveals as he leans against the desk, arms crossed.  A smug self satisfied look across his face. “I never terminated it.”

“Dad,” Tony hisses furiously.  “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?  Make you get a degree, which you need to be respected in this world?  Help your nurture your intellect? You could be better than me Tony, but you need to take the time to listen and learn first.  You don’t know all the answers.”

“I know computer science, networking, all of that better than you. You have missed the boat with ARPANET.  The internet is something we could have owned from the beginning. But you can’t see it. Not like I can. You are an old man who shouldn’t be leading this anymore.”

Howard stands there and says, “Well too bad, since I own your work from here on out.  I think it’s time you went back to MIT.”

“Me too,” Tony replies.  

Three weeks later, there is an SI press packet about the work they are beginning in robotics, with picture of DUM-E with various other scientists.  Tony tries not to think about how they figured out how he did any of it, because all it means is taking DUM-E apart piece by piece, test by test, and then putting him back together to prove they understood it.   (He’s never been the same since.)

Two and half years later, his parents are dead, and he’s head of SI.

They never made up.

(Some days, Tony regrets it ended like that.  Others, he is proud. Most he’s just numb - been that way since he felt Jarvis’ hand was on his shoulder while he said, “That’s my dad” followed by “That’s my mother”  and stared at the bodies laid across the metal slabs in the morgue.

They died, he lived.  That’s how the story goes until one day it’s him dead on the slab and someone else alive.  And it continues on and on like that because that’s all life is - a straight line into the ground.)

 

 

From  _Tony_

Start the PR campaign.

_ From PR Minion 1 _

Are you sure?  We aren’t 100% ready per the requirements

From  _Tony_

Yes

 

 

 

"So let’s do some one on ones,” Natasha urges.  “I’ll take Tony.”

They’ve been there on a week, and it’s another day of training, another day of working on things for the team along with some blueprints for SI and Pepper, another day of trying to find a new comfortable.  A new normal. It’s slow going, but everyone stops tensing when he and Steve are in the same area. 

It’s been carefully coordinated that they never fight each other, but Tony’s okay with that.  He’s fought against Steve enough to last a lifetime.

“Ugh,” Tony groans.  “I feel like you very ungracefully manipulated the situations so it’s you and me.”

She grins.  “Sometimes I’m not a spy.”

“Sure,” Tony returns.  “Like sometimes I’m not a futurist.”

She rolls her eyes, easy, and he has to smile, because this is like how it used to be, but better.  Instead he activates the suit, and it slowly shifts out of the breast plate he has under his shirt. Climbing his body until it’s covered all of him in the armor.  Natasha stills and this is as close as he gets to stunning her. “Surprised?” he asks.

“Is that,” she pauses before stepping forward and tapping her nails against the metal.  She turns back to a grinning T’Challa. “Vibranium?”

T’Challa shrugs, still grinning ear to ear.  “Maybe.”

She whistles.  “Well I underestimated the bromance you two had going on.”  There are a few chuckles from the growing crowd. 

“I’m hurt Nat,” he returns, but even the suit can’t filter out the laughter in his voice.  “I thought you knew everything.”

“Not always the spy,” she reminds him.  And she tenses for a moment, just long enough for Tony to remember how she used to train with him, before she leaps at him.  The suit calculates the move to be her usual Spider bites around the throat, so he takes to the air. Then she throws something on the ground and FRIDAY alerts him furiously with a beeping before a forcefield springs to life around them - trapping them both inside.  

“Fuck,” he hisses before he starts calculating how far up and wide the curved dome is.  He reaches up and touches it and felt a jolt even through this suit. Looks like it’s conductive with metal.  Smart. Widow doesn’t wear heavy metal items because her specialty is quick and getting in close and taking you out.  

For Tony, who focuses on long range and only moves in close when he has to, this is not a good thing - at all.  Because as much coverage as the suit allows, he is still a man in a metal suit versus a hand to hand fighter in a hand to hand fighter environment.

FRIDAY tracks her movements lowly in his ear, “Black Widow is running for the edge of the force field, leaping - she’s coming at you boss.” With accompanying levels of beeping for urgency for when he needs to pay attention when he is checking out a way to get out of the force field.  

“FRIDAY, see if we can remote hack the device or if I need to get near it myself,” he replies before last minute dodging Nat’s rocket path to him.  

Even in a fake fight, he doesn’t want to let her fall, even 10 feet in the air, so he reaches out and  grabs her arm. She uses the momentum of the sudden stop of her fall to throw herself upwards and wrap her legs around his head, leaving his head sandwiched between her thighs.  “Oh hell no,” Tony vocalizes so she can hear it. “I know this bullshit.”

“Are you sure?” she replies, before swinging herself and sticking a Spider Bite near a weak joint at his neck.  It shocks, but not enough to incapacitate him, so he flips upside down, faking an uncontrolled flight and killing the lights of the mask.  She pulls back the bite, lets go and presses off him.

He turns the light back on, and hear Nat yell and throws something that attaches to his suit and pulses more energy through him, enough that Tony has to grit his teeth to get past the pain. “I can’t remotely neutralize the force field,” FRIDAY says.  “But if you crush it, you should be okay.”

Grinning, Tony throws a repulsor blast at the toy, and the second it explodes he drifts up 20 feet in the air and turns his beams on her.  “Check mate,” he vocalizes, and Nat takes a moment to survey the open air arena and lack of options to hide before falling into a relaxed pose.  

“You got me,” she deadpans.  Tony eases downwards, feet barely touching the ground before the suit retracts, leaving him just in jeans and a t-shirt.  “It’s a bit unfair,” she adds. “We’re not an even match.”

Tony shrugs.  “You are the one who asked for it.”

She nods, “True.”  She looks back at the group, meets eyes with Steve before looking away and nods, “Looks like the spider is about to catch the bird.”

On another platform, Peter leans up against the force field, just a hairsbreadth away, and Tony watches with what he already knows is a fond smile on his face.  He can tell by the way Bruce and Rhodey are grinning at him from halfway across the room, the force field is something of Peter he’s been working on with those two.  He looks over, and Natasha’s sly twist of her lips tells him she knows exactly the amount of pride he has for this moment. He’s being obvious, and for once it doesn’t make his skin crawl that these guys get to see him.

Before it all, he would have avoided looking anyone in the eye.  He would have brushed past the feelings he had, thinking he didn’t have a right (or too much of a right, if he goes back further).  He doesn’t now. He’s not sure if it’s maturity or finally not caring too much, but it’s still there.

Peter leaps up and uses the shield to bounce himself off.  The force of the energy rockets him towards Falcon, and you can hear Sam squawk as he tries to dive in order to dodge.  Peter adjusts to every move with split second decisions that impress Tony, even though he’s been training and fighting side by side with the kid for months at this point.  

He tackles Falcon, and then clamors all over until Sam loses control and starts a downward fall.  Peter then grabs on the flight pack and pulls a few wires. Sam’s shouting at Peter, grasping backwards, but the wings suddenly retract into the pack.  Peter then lets go, using his right webslinger to swing back towards the center of the field, and the left to grab onto Falcon’s flight pack and swing along with him.

“Put me down,” Sam yelps, flailing and trying to get unhooked.

Peter shrugs and goes, “Okay.”  It ends up only being a 10 foot drop that Sam more or less rolls into, using the momentum of the swing he fell from.  When he finally rolls to a stop, Peter lands beside him and goes, “Do I have to web you to the floor, or are you just going to give up?”

“God, I hate you kid,” Sam groans.  “I give,” he adds, when Peter leans closer.  

That’s enough for Peter to cheer, and Steve and Barnes to rush in and help get Sam up.  Shuri follows, equipment already checking on Sam’s status.

When Peter comes towards him, Tony hooks an arm around his shoulder and pulls him close.  He can see Peter’s grin, even under the mask, and it’s ear to ear. 

“Did you see that Tony?” he asks, voice trembling with excitement.  “It was a woosh and the bang, and I was all, ‘oh I wouldn’t try that’ and then I faked like I couldn’t do anything before I went zap and got him.”

It hopeless, absolutely hopeless, that he would keep from smiling at Peter’s dramatic reenactment of the fight from five seconds ago.  His energy is catching, jubilant, and happy, and Tony can’t help but say, “I’m always proud of you kid, but I’m extra proud now.”

Even if Tony didn’t think Peter could perk up any more than he already was, he defies even those expectations and positively tries to rattle out of his body with excitement.  “Hey Rhodey,” Peter utters the second the thud of the War Machine’s feet hit the ground. “Did you see?”

“Not all of it kid, tell me from the beginning,” Rhodey replies, easy as he catches Tony’s eyes.  It’s written in every line of his face that he’s seen, but he still follows Peter’s narrative intently, carefully hiding his laughter when Peter gesticulates a little too wildly and nearly sends Tony flying.  Later, they will end up hidden in one of the many rooms, probably Tony’s, huddled over a hologram of the fight, breaking down every punch, every missed opportunities - slowly figuring out what to improve and adjust in their own person training.  

Over Peter’s head, he sees Steve watching him intently.  Tony just nods, smile slowly slipping from his lips. Sam is front of Steve, talking to him intently, and he’s still nodding along with what is being said, but it’s like he can’t look away from Tony.

Tony huffs, and almost says,  _ At some point, you just need to beat the shit out of me and get over your issues because by then you’ve proved your point.   _ But he suspects Rhodey would take offense to him even suggesting the idea out loud.   __

“Post fight analysis?” Peter asks, and Tony turns back to him, only to notice both him and Rhodey are looking at him.  Rhodey’s eyebrows are quirked, and Tony knows he’s not getting away with whatever expression was on his face back then without a long talk.  On the other hand, Peter’s staring up at him with his most intent,  _ I am so hopeful and if you say this you will crush all my hopes and dreams _ face that even works through the damn mask.

“First off,” Tony states.  “Whoever taught you that face should be shot,  _ Rhodey _ .”  

Rhodey raises his hands defensively and says, “Hey, he just came from the factory that way.  I would blame you for making the mask so expressive. Dilating lenses was your point of pride, remember?”

He places his hands over where Peter’s ears are on on the mask, and retorts with a quick, “Oh fuck you,” that doesn’t even sound angry.  It just sounds fond, and he grimaces as Rhodey starts laughing. 

Peter lightly pushes at his arms, flailing a little bit to make it all more dramatic, because at the end of the day, that is how they are these days - dramatic and over the top.  Clambering to hold onto the last of Peter’s innocence in what they are about to drag him into, and to keep it light even though they know something dark is coming. 

“Tony,” Peter whines, dragging out the y at the end of his name, and even Bruce is laughing from where he is standing near by with Clint, formerly deep in a discussion.  

They are a spectacle, eyes on them from every side, but when isn’t Tony in the center of the attention?  So he shrugs off the eyes watching him and just continues on. “Nope,” he replies, and tries to turn away and leave.  Peter clings to his arm, and goes limp, so Tony ends up dragging him along as well. 

Rhodey is carefully keeping from snickering as Tony drags Peter, suit and all, across the floor plate of the workroom. Others make space, grins on each and every one of their lips as they continue.  Most conversation has stopped as they watch the Tony and Spidey show. Finally, Vision floats through the doorway and takes stock of the situation. 

“Would you like some help?” he asks, and Tony, up until this very moment, was 90% sure Vision still hadn’t developed a sense of humor, but there is a slightly droll humor in his tone that makes Tony want to go,  _ Oh god not you too _ .

Instead he says, “Yes please.”

Vision pries the suit’s fingers off Tony and then holds Peter around the waist until they float just enough away and up that Peter will have to pull off some acrobatics before he can latch onto Tony again.  Peter wriggles, and Vision keeps adjusting his grip and positioning of him in order to keep Peter from getting away.

It’s a familiar sight, one from the tower in New York, and Tony doesn’t even try to keep his laughter in.  That’s when Vision states, “I would like to be a part of this breakdown as well.”

“There’s no breakdown,” Tony says.  Rhodey just starts laughing. “There  _ isn’t _ ,” he insists.  “I didn’t agree to anything.”

That’s when Peter breaks out the longest _please_ ever.

“You,” Tony begins and then throws his arms up in the air.  “Ugh, whatever. Come to my room -” Peter loud whispers,  _ suite _ , and even T’Challa starts laughing then, “-my  _ room _ , you child. I’ve had better suites before.”  T’Challa stops laughing. “I don’t mean that, ugh, I give up.”  He throws his arms up in the air and walks away. “Seven o’clock you nuts,” he throws over his shoulder.  There is a chorus of of,  _ see you there _ ’s, more than he suspected, but Tony doesn’t look back, doesn’t start overthinking it.

He feels settled.  It’s a first in a long,  _ long  _ time.

 

 

 

From _Nat_

You’re different.

From  _Tony_

Of course, it’s been three years.  

From _Nat_

It’s not that.  You’ve grown

From  _Tony_

Thanks

From _Nat_

I wish I had been there.

From  _Tony_

You were.  

From  _Tony_

Not physically

From  _Tony_

But you were there

 

 

 

When he opens his eyes, the room is fuzzy around the edges, a blur of colors until he blinks and it all comes in rush of refining sharpness.  It’s the manor, back in the day when his mother ran the house. Christmas, based on the decorations. 

He looks down and sees the middle school uniform he used to wear, and feels off.  Like there is something wrong with this memory, this time.

“Oh Tony,” he hears sighed beside him, and Tony turns.  There is Peggy, dark haired and wryly fond. She has his hand in hers, and he feels like he’s woken up in the middle of a memory he doesn’t remember.  

“You are my left hand,” Peggy says.  

“Why left?” Tony asks, and he feels like it’s him saying the words - not that this is part of the memory.  That they are coming out of his mouth. 

“Because,” Peggy says, and grabs his hand and holds it close.  “It is the hand closest to my heart.”

Tony wiggles his fingers and watches as the smaller hand moves on the fabric.   _ Am I? _ He thinks before the thought fades.

“The right hand can be lost, but the left is what I need to survive.  I keep things closer to my heart there.” She tightens her grip and the gold of her wedding band gleams on her left hand.

He blinks and it’s like time  _ stops  _ \- freezes mid motion before restarting.  It’s darker and the Peggy across from him looks like her features have been carved into her skin.  Hair more grey than brown. This is the Peggy he remembers easily.

“Tony, will you,” she starts and stops. It’s like she can’t get the words out any more.  Like they are stuck in the middle of her throat. Never able to make it past.

Instead she takes the worn ring off and flips his hand over until she can drop it in his palm.  His fingers clench around it unconsciously. “Are you sure?” He asks. Because he has to.

She cradles his fist in her hands, closing until she encases his hand in hers.  She squeezes as she begins to tear up. “Aunt Peggy,” he says, quiet, lonely -  _ hurt  _ like he has been for years.

A sob breaks through, and she clings to his hands.  He folds her into him and for the first time Peggy feels frail and small - breakable.  He thinks,  _ don’t leave me.  Please don’t leave me too.  You’re the  _ last  _ one _ .  The idea of being the last one left rolls his stomach.  And it’s like he is here in this morning, barely twenty seven, before so much - not fifty four and on the edge of everything.

Tony holds Peggy closer because he feels like he will rattle apart if he lets go.

But he remembers a moment later.  He remembers that he has the ring in a safety deposit box until Sharon asks for it.  Has had it there since a year after Daniel passed and Peggy had asked him to hold on to it with such weary resignation that Tony had worried if he would be burying her in another year.  Just another funeral to barely stay standing for, drunk enough to numb but sober enough for the eulogy.

He remembers everything the way it happened, but his hands still shake when he wakes.

 

 

 

From _Barnes_

You and Steve ever going to talk?

From  _Tony_

We talk enough

From  _Barnes_

That’s a load of bullshit

From  _Tony_

Leave it alone old man

From  _Barnes_

Nah, I would rather annoy the shit out of you

 

 

 

It happens like it has a hundred times before in the two months they have been in Wakanda.  Steve doesn’t quite stumble into the common living area they have all decreed neutral territory.  A space to exist without having to defend themselves. Tempers are still hot sometimes and people avoid it, but it has the best view of the capitol at night.

It reminds Tony of New York City in varying eras.  After his parents death, after Jarvis and Ana, after JARVIS, after the Civil War.  The night lit up, bright and brilliant, and vibrant enough that he can swear he feels the life under his fingertips on the glass - those are some of the moments he feels like his brain can stop churning.  Like he can sit, glass in hand, and just exist. 

Like there aren’t things he can feel haunting his every step.

But when Steve stumbles in, and it’s like Tony can feel his approach.  There is an alertness that sneak into his brain, a tenseness sneaking into his shoulders.  And every time, it’s Steve around the corner, just as aware as Tony is.

Their eyes catch and Tony watches as Steve’s throat work, grasping for the words that Steve’s admitted are never easy to find.  (But it was easier around Tony, like it had been with Bucky, back in the day.). He’s always watching, and the knowledge burns. Always half way out the door, because he knew, even unconsciously, he  _ knew… _

_ “Tony?”  _ Steve gets out.  His name is a broken note, tired and weary, like it’s drug from Steve’s lips.

Tony lingers in the room for once, sipping his drink.  Maybe he should leave, but he’s tired of dodging people.  Tired of hiding. 

(He usually nods curtly before briskly leaving the room, not running - just barely.)

“Tony, I,” Steve starts, and he can’t have that.  Not right now.

“You know,” he says out to the carved out stairs below them.  His chest feels hollow and he can’t help but wonder if it’s heart he’s looking  at. Carved out and the broken pieces worn smooth by the use of others. “I always thought I would be the one to destroy you.”  Steve stills, chest barely moving. 

“But you knew.  Maybe didn’t know, but you suspected it.  You stood there beside me day in and day out and didn’t say a thing.”

It goes between the distance them, so far removed from the places they used to be. Co leaders, partners.  It’s an ache dulled with time and acceptance. Because Tony had been there, thinking himself Steve’s right hand.  Like Steve was his left.

“I didn’t say what?” Steve asks, with a softness Tony hasn’t seen in a while.  Since before Ultron. A hesitancy. 

Nothing, Tony replies, unwilling to throw any more accusations.  Let his pain out. It’s not what they are  _ here _ .  Not any more.

Tony smiles, and there is a worn sadness in Steve’s face.  Like they are becoming used to these sad half men they have become.  “I missed you,” he admits. “Your bright fire and unwavering faith in humanity.”

“I’m missing a bit of that,” Steve says.  Tony drains his glass to keep from admitting,  _ I knew that before Germany.  After DC, you were different.   _

_ I missed you all the same. _

“Aren’t we all?” Tony agrees.  “Ready to do this whole gig one more time?” 

A war is taking place on Steve’s face.  “Saving the world for absolutely no gratitude.  Or money. Money would be nice though. Make it easier when we have to fund the cleaning crews into areas to clean it all up,” Tony clarifies.

“I missed you,” Steve says in a rush.

Tony smiles again before he steps forward and claps his hand on Steve’s shoulder.  “Not many others like me,” he responds. 

Steve laughs and stares directly at him.  “Never could be another Tony Stark.”

There are words, things between them, linger in the air.  Things Tony could,  _ should _ , say.  Instead, he nods before heading out.  Leaves his glass on a table and keeps walking until he’s back in his room, locking the door and putting his head in his hands.

 

 

From _Tony_

You okay?

From _Pepper_

Yes.  You?

From _Tony_

Just peachy.

From _Pepper_

Honestly?

From _Tony_

Honestly.

 

 

 

Obie sits besides him and goes, “Tony I need you to be strong.”

It takes a moment for Tony to place the shakiness his feels in his gut, the nagging guilt, and the rolling weariness weighing him down.  He’s in a suit in a car. 

_ Oh god _ , he thinks.  

“They would want you to be strong,” Obie says, and his hand feels heavy on his shoulder.  Like he’s dragging Tony down into the hell he creates years later. Tony looks for Jarvis, Ana, Daniel, Peggy - any one.  But he’s alone in the limo.

There is an itch in the back of his mind, like he is forgetting something, that something is just barely off and wrong.  “No they wouldn’t,” he struggles to get out. “They don’t care because they are dead.”

“You are their legacy,” Obie insists.  “Howard’s heir. You have to keep it together to keep his legacy going.  It’s what they’d want.”

“He wanted me in college,” Tony spits out.  “Not running the company.”

Obie pauses before saying, “I can run it while you finish your degree.”

Something in him screams to say no.   _ This is how he got the taste for power.  He couldn’t let it go afterward,  _ he knows.  But how does he know that?

“Please,” he says before the limo pulls to a stop and he gets out.

When he wakes up, he swears he can still feel Jarvis’ hand on his shoulder and Ana’s arms around him as he clings to her.  Too real to be a dream, even through he knows he is just lying to himself at this point. Because his dreams were never this vivid before BARF, and since he stopped using, that hasn’t changed anything.

He’s not getting better.   If anything, he’s getting worse.

 

 

 

From _Peter_

Are you sleeping

From _Tony_

Some

From  _Peter_

You need anything?

From  _Tony_

Nothing right now

From  _Tony_

Thanks for asking kid

 

 

 

It’s 3 months before Barnes approaches him on his own.  It’s early in the morning, and Tony feels like the bags under his eyes are engraved in his skin now.

There have been a few casual comments between the two, but Barnes very carefully keeps his distance in public.  Every once in a while he will text Tony things that makes him wonder about the duality in the man, but then he remember another man, taller quieter, worn down so close to the bone that he held himself carefully even with his daughter.  Careful in case he may break her. 

It’s a familiar sort of concept watching the dance, watching another man try to redefine himself.  Tony isn’t sure if it’s just because of that, or other reasons.

Barnes hands Tony a mug of coffee carefully.  Shuri has created a new arm for him, but he’s still not 100% comfortable with the causal power that comes from it.  Careful to not use it to touch other people, like he thinks the arm is going to harm someone. Tony takes a sip, and notices it’s exactly how Steve prepares it for him.  They stay like that for almost an hour, Barnes leaning against the window, half watching the city and half watching Tony while Tony tries to avoid it.

“Are you being a creeper or going to say something?” Tony finally bites out.  Barnes’s lips kick up. 

“You aren’t sleeping,” he counters.

“Please tell me you aren’t watching me from the rafters because that is some Clint bullshit, and we can’t have two guys like that.  Clint is weird enough. You need to find your own corner of the world of weird to own,” Tony snarks before taking another sip. He’s tired, aching from being hunched over his computer and staring at this design problem he can’t figure out.  He wants to hand it off to Bruce or Shuri, who would probably look at it and come up with an answer in five minutes. 

Barnes looks fully amused now, and Tony remember the pictures of him stomping down the streets in DC, and it catches him how differently he looks.  How relaxed Barnes looks now, in the middle of this overly modern lab, even though it has to bring up bad memories. “No, I just hacked the cameras. Shuri is amused and kicks me out once a week and makes me try again to break through the firewall.”

“You know how to hack?” Tony asks, surprised.

Barnes shrugs his flesh shoulder.  “They wanted me to be a modern soldier, so I learned everything necessary for a mission every time I was woken back up.”

“So your memories are coming back,” Tony muses. 

“Since you,” Barnes tilts his head.  “Yeah, they have been sticking around more.”  He pauses before adding, “You’re avoiding. I’m not too brain damaged to not notice it.’

Tony shrugs.  “We’ve got end of the world stuff, and I’m working around the clock with Shuri to make sure we have everyone armed and prepared, yeah I’m going to be missing some sleep.”

Barnes stares a moment longer, like he is tracking something across Tony’s face, and he feels exposed.  Laid bare to someone who knows how to use everything against him. He shivers a bit before Barnes stands up and walks away.  

Tony turns back to the window and watches a bird take flight before a blanket is dropped on his shoulders.  “You have to be well rested,” Barnes says, nothing in his tone besides calm knowing. “You can’t be tensed up all the time.  It’ll happen when it happens.”

“Speaking in old ‘40’s proverbs?” Tony snarks, as he curls into the blanket.

Barnes shrugs, a barely there movement of his shoulders.  It’s like he lost anything besides minimum movement when he came back to himself.  Like he’s retraining himself how to have emotions. It’s unsettling some days, but for some reason today, he’s comfortable with it.  “Snipers rule book.”

Tony looks at him for a long moment, and Barnes meets his gaze for a second before looking away.  “I don’t understand you,” he finally admits.

There’s a smile again before Barnes replies, “Me either.”

They stay like that for a while, and Tony finally drifts off as he hears the first footsteps in the distance, Barnes standing watch.

When he wakes up ten hours later, sleep finally dreamless, Barnes is in a different place but still there, carefully not watching Tony.

 

 

From _Bruce_

Friday sent me a password safe file the other day.  Any chance you are going to give me the password?

From  _Tony_

What?

From  _Tony_

Oh ignore it

From _Bruce_

You sure?

From  _Tony_

Yeah.  She got some wires crossed here.

 

 

 

The first thing he hears is singing.  He opens his eyes to his parents bedroom, and he sits up and looks across the room to see his mother rubbing vaseline under her eyes.  She stills, and stops singing when she looks back. “Are you feeling better this morning cucciolo? You were having some terrible nightmares last night.”

He looks around the room.  “Where’s Dad?” 

Maria smiles at him as she turns back to the mirror, watching him in the reflection.  “He’s had to go to Washington DC late last night, so it’s just us and the Jarvis’ in the house.  I thought you might like to play hooky today.” Her grin is mischievous.

Tony looks down and realizes he is 14.  His father has firm opinions on what he should do and not do at this age.  “Dad won’t be pleased,” he says instead. 

Maria’s smile droops a little before she shores it up.  “I’ll handle your father if I need to. I still know how to take someone down in a fight if I need to.”

“And I will help if necessary,” Ana adds as she enters with a tray of food.  “Mr. Jarvis has made all your favorite, so you better eat it all up or he will think you don’t like his cooking any more.”

Tony sits there quietly and eats, savoring the forgotten flavors of Jarvis’ special strawberry jam spread across buttered homemade toast.  Fluffy scrambled with just the right amount of whip. Oatmeal with cinnamon and apple pieces. The flavors of his childhood.

He looks up and sees his mother watching him with a frown. “Why are you crying dearest?”

“I had a dream,” he says, and this is him.  Not the dream. “I had a dream you were in a car accident and you were killed, and so did Dad and Ana and Jarvis, and Peggy couldn’t remember me, so I was all alone.”

“Oh cucciolo,” she whispers as she pets his hair before leaning down so they are eye to eye.  “Even when I die, because we all do dearest, I will still be with you. I will be over your shoulder watching you.”

“Do you love me?” he asks, because he needs to know.  Needs to hear it. 

Maria smiles, and it’s like all the wrinkles on her face disappear and she is 20.  “I dreamed about you, you know. I dreamed about this genius son of mine who would do amazing things, become an amazing man.  I’ve dreamed about you since I was little, and I’ve loved you since that very first dream.”

“I’m not always going to be a good man,” he quietly admits, looking down at his hands.  “I’ll do a lot of bad things and a lot of people will be hurt.”

“It’s what you do after,” Maria says, grabbing his twisting fingers in hers, thumbs rubbing across his hand.  “That’s what counts. Do you continue to be bad? Or do you become a better person?”

“I try,” he replies.  “I try and I try, but I still keep hurting people.”

“Do you save some?” she inquires.  

“A few,” he concedes.  “But not enough.”

Maria grabs him up in her arms and pulls him close.  He clings as tightly as he can to her, smelling her perfume, and remembering the feel of her arms around him for the first time in along time.  “You do just fine,” she murmurs. “I’ve seen it my little iron man.”

He wakes up then, the scent of her perfume in the air, heart racing, and can't remember what she said at the end.

 

 

 

From  _Nat_

Don’t do something dumb here

From  _Tony_

My entire life is a collection of dumb things I have done.  It’s like you are challenging me to do something dumb

From  _Nat_

Not what I meant

From  _Tony_

Oh I know

From  _Tony_

I’m not planning anything dumb

From  _Nat_

Yet

From  _Tony_

No yet

From _Nat_

You sure?

From  _Tony_

Honestly

 

 

 

It starts like most nights do.  Tony is curled into a chair in his room, taking a late break with some coffee before thinking about heading back to the lab or just giving in to going to bed.  The quiet thud of feet on the ground makes Tony look back. He catches Steve peering in the open door, sleep mused and a little haunted around the eyes. Their eyes meet, and the both freeze for a moment, caught between remembering how they were and how they are now - both trying to be normal in the midst of everything going on.  Because their first reaction is to always remember the old hurts, and not the promises to move forward.

The uneasiness that gets stirred up with the rest of the group from time to time because of them isn’t something Tony wants to hold onto.  He’s been trying, inch by inch, to give up on his anger and the hopelessness he feels when he sees Steve. The ringing of  _ yes _ in his ears as Steve takes a half a beat before lunging for him.  

It’s been nearly four months since they have had to cohabitate with each other, train with each other, be in each other’s spaces.  It’s been nearly 4 year since they fought, and Tony thinks it’s been long enough. He’s clinged to that long enough. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Steve parrots back.  

“It’s a good night,” Tony offers.  “Clear and a full moon. You can see the stars too.  Not something you can see in New York.”

Steve crosses the room and sits in the bed behind Tony’s chair, peering over his shoulder.  “I haven’t seen a sky like this since I was in France.”

Tony laughs, and he can see from Steve’s face he’s just as surprised as Tony at the noise.  “You always make me feel so old when you say things like that.”

“What?” Steve asks.  “Mentioning World War II?  That should make me feel older, not you.”

He keeps chuckling, “No the way you say it.  Like you want to do it again. I would rather sleep in my lab than on the ground.  My back can’t handle too much of that.”

“I’m still older than you,” Steve rolls his eyes.  “No matter what you say.”

Tony shifts in his seat until he is looking Steve in the eye, serious in his intent, “Oh you don’t get to use your birth date as an argument.  There is actual years lived here. I’ve spent more on this earth doing things.”

“I did things,” Steve returns.  “Sleep is a  _ thing _ .”

“No it’s not!” Tony returns.  “You were frozen! Your cells were not regenerating!  If I ran some tests on us, it wouldn’t say your cells were from an 80 year old man, and we all know the science  has been proven right. So I don’t consider your line of thought process valid in this argument.”

His outrage shocks them both into silence for a moment.  “Are we arguing about my age?” Steve says after a pause.  “Are we really?”

Tony shrugs, “I would say we were arguing about my age, but I’ll give you this one if you agree with me on the cellular age.”

Steve starts laughing.  “We’re stupid sometimes, aren’t we?”

“Only sometimes,” Tony replies with a fond grin.  If he closes his eyes, this could feel like 6 years ago, leaning against a car and showing Steve the Compound for the first time.

“I missed this,” Steve says when he finally calms down.  “I missed how we used to be able to just talk and it wasn’t because of something or someone wanted anything.  We just talked.”

“Oh I wanted something,” Tony replies.  “But I get what you mean.”

Steve tilts his head.  And Tony looks away, back to the night’s sky.  “Tony,” Steve urges. “Tony look at me.”

He draws his eyes back, and Tony catalogs the changes in Steve over the past four years.  His eyes are sadder, more lined, and the beard is carefully trimmed. He knows Steve uses it to keep a lower profile.  People looks for the younger captain, not the older one. It’s an easy disguise, makes him look less blond, less Captain America.  But the reverse side is, it makes him look more like Steve. The Steve Tony used to eat burgers in the city with, prank Clink, laugh with, look back at when he was working and Steve was sketching.  And even with all the hurt and distance, Tony still feels the same way he did back then.

“Don’t punch me,” Tony mutters, and he pauses for a moment as he drags his eyes to Steve’s lips before looking back.  Steve’s eyes widen as he realizes, but he doesn’t move away. He just carefully stays there, right in Tony’s space.

Tony is the one who moves.  He leans in and kisses Steve solidly on the lips.  Steve gasps into it, and it takes a second before he gets it.  Gets what is happening. He grips Tony’s worn ACDC shirt in his fist and pulls him closer.  

He’s never dreamed of this moment, never let himself think about it happening.  Never wanted to believe it would. Because believing meant there was hope.   Tony doesn’t have many things he believes in any more.  

He threads his fingers in Steve’s hair desperate to keep them closer as he kisses him.  Like his life depends on this one moment continuing on for forever. It’s Steve who pulls back panting.  “Okay,” he utters. 

Tony laughs a little helplessly and leans forward until his forehead is pressed against Steven’s shoulder.  “I haven’t had someone say that to me after a kiss since college, so thanks for that ego boost.”

“I got enhanced lung capacity, and you’ve got me out of breath,” Steve returns, his breath tickling the hair on the back if Tony’s neck as he leans close. “That should be compliment enough.”

“God,” Tony says, “Why are we talking when you could be fucking me?”  

“Romantic,” Steve replies, deadpan, and Tony just helplessly laughs.  “What are we doing here Tony?”

“Finally collapsing under the weight of the end of the world and sexual attraction,” Tony hypothesizes.  Steve’s hand has migrated to his arm, and his fingers dig into Tony’s arm at the statement. “Or it could be something else.  Depends on what way you look at this. He leans back and looks at Steve, “Can we just discuss this some other time?”

Steve’s face is a war of emotions for a moment before they settle and he pushes forward and kisses Tony, softly, sweetly for a moment before pulling back.  “I can be okay with that.”

“Good.”  Tony stands and pulls off his shirt.  Steve follows his action, and when he pushes Steve back on the bed with a soft press of his hand on Steve’s bare chest.  Steve goes easily, a grin on his lips. Tony crawls over the bed and leans down and kisses Steve long and deep before pulling back.  Steve chases him, but Tony clicks his tongue so Steve gets the message and pulls back with a groan. Tony bites the top of Steve’s earlobe, and reflexibly, the fingers in Steve’s hand twitch towards him before fisting in the quilt on the bed.

Tony grins as he pulls back and plants a few kisses on Steve’s jaw and then neck as he slips a hand under Steve’s sweatpants until he can grasp Steve’s cock in one hand.  It’s half hard, curving upwards, and Tony tightens his grip on it until Steve gasps a little, and he can feel it jerk a little. He looks up at Steve and runs his thumb over the head of Steve’s cock.  Steve turns his head away and his left hand is around a pillow, holding a corner tight in a fist. Tony pulls up a little, continuing to run circles around the head, feeling the pre-cum smear under his fingers as he uses his free hand to tug down Steve’s pants.

Tony then takes the moment to resettle before removing his hand, much to Steve’s annoyance based on the low groan he makes, but Tony takes the moment to lick a stipe from ball to tip up Steve’s cock.  The man underneath him lets out a high pitched noise from the back of his throat, trying to stuff his face in a pillow to keep from making too much noise.

“Look at me,” Tony urges, and Steve makes a low, insistent noise before he turns his head towards him.

It’s then that Tony leans down and takes into his mouth as much of Steve as he can.   He can hear Steve’s low groan, and he sucks as hard as he can, and the groan gets a little louder.  Tony uses the barest amount of his teeth as he pulls back before going back down in a slow bob. Tony can feel Steve’s hips make an abortive movement before he forcibly gets himself under control with an intense frown across his face.  

Tony can feel himself getting hard slowly, in stages.  Every time Steve’s eyes meet his as he pulls far enough back to suck on the tip, hard and insistent enough that his jaw aches, he feels it intensely in his groin.  He keeps going, and the noises Steve tries to to muffle get louder and more insistent.

“Tony,” Steve warns, and Tony pulls back.  

“Not yet,” he says before taking off his own pants.  He throws a look to Steve to see how he is reacting to the mess of scars of his chest and the wear on his body.  Steve leans up on his arm and reaches out to touch Tony’s chest before pulling him down in a messy kiss. It’s soft and easy, and Tony knows it means to be reassuring.  

He pulls back with a smile, and he grabs the lotion on the side table.  He sits back on his knees and begins to put some lotion on his fingers. He reaches out and uses Steve’s chest to brace himself, feeling Steve’s hand curl around his wrist, rather than see it.  Tony reaches back and has a sharp intake of breath as he pushes in. The angle is awkward and unskilled for a moment before his muscles remember how this goes again. 

Steve watches him with slack-jawed lust, and Tony wants to comment on the moment.  Wants to say something, but he doesn’t. Just goes back to focusing on the smooth slide of his fingers, the way it gets easier to move in and out as he goes on.  

When he slips three in, Tony moans a little, and the fingers around his wrist tighten enough to bruise for just a second before letting go again.  He groans, at the lack of the touch, feeling cooler a little bit before Steve tightens his grip again. “Enjoying the show?” Tony manages to breathe out.

Steve rumbles, “Yeah,” and Tony feels that way the way down to his cock.

He pushes Steve down again, and he goes before pulling his hand out and using the remaining lotion on Steve, holding on tightly to his dick as he covers it.  Steve has his eyes closed, but the second Tony let’s go, he opens then and watches him closely. Tony straddles Steve until he slowly lowers himself, leaning into the stretch until he is as full as he can be.  He pauses, a puff of air released from his lungs as he takes a moment to savor the fullness, feeling completely and utterly filled in ways he didn’t know he needed. 

“You okay?” Steve asks, and Tony can feel feel him carefully holding himself so his hips don’t twitch.  Tony looks up and meets his worried gaze with a smile. 

Instead he arches his back and inches upwards.  “Good, “ he murmurs. 

Steve’s sharp increase of breath is the only show he has when Tony nearly pulls off him before pushing downwards faster than he did before.  And again, and again. He increases the pace until he finds a steady one that he likes, and makes Steve’s breath come out in a shaky but rapid pace.

He grabs his own dick against the feeling of his nerve endings lighting up, the fullness inside of him.  The drag of Steve’s dick against his prostate when Tony finally gets the angle right almost drives the air from his lungs.  Underneath him, Steve’s restraint finally breaks a little, and his hips snap up to meet Tony mid thrust, and he lets out an involuntary pitched groan.  He keeps going, and Steve keeps meeting his midway, hitting his prostate so hard and fast Tony can barely breath.

Steve reaches forward and with a frantic sweaty hand, he roughly encircle his own cock, sliding up and down the overly sensitive skin, desperate.  It makes Tony lose his rhythm for a moment before catching himself and settling back at a faster pace, enough to make Steve grip him even harder.

He’s practically bouncing from the speed of it, but he can feel the pressure building in him from the hot press of the dick inside him, and the way Steve begins to tighten his grip, he knows Steve is on the edge of a the precipice too. He can feel the pleasure winding up, about to catch him on fire, put him over the edge, and the drag of Steve against his nerve endings is something he never wants to have end.

Steve’s hips snap harder this time, and he lets out a breathless pitch of pleasure, gripping onto Tony tighter than before, as he tumbles over, and Steve’s grip drags Tony over as well, as he comes hard, vision whiting out around the edges.

He vision returns to Steve’s steady rub of his thumb against Tony’s wrist.  At some point he gripped Steve’s hip, holding onto him for dear life. He lets go a bit, and slumps into the space besides Steve, feeling the ridden hard and put away wet feeling of a good climax.  

Tony looks up and sees Steve turned on his side, pushing the fringe of his hair away from where it is clinging to his soaked forehead.  He does that for a moment, before sweeping his thumb down the side of Tony’s face, until Steve can grab his jaw and tilt him into another kiss.  

“You taste like coffee,” Steve says.  Tony mutters in tired agreement. “Can I stay?” Steve asks.  Tony is half asleep already and nods as he curls into a pillow.  Steve takes a moment before curling around his body.

Tony dozes for a few hours before opening his eyes and turning around.  He watches Steve silently, the smoothed out plains on his face, the dusting of hair on his chest as the blanket pools around his waist.  

Tony lays there, watching the lights disappearing as the hours go by.  He could stay here. He could stay here and this mean something that isn’t the emptiness between them already compounded.  It could be the beginning of something. Beginning of a new era. Beginning of true, deep forgiveness. 

Beside him, Steve is quiet, breathing in and out softly, and vulnerable.  Tony runs a hand up Steve’s arm, until he’s at Steve’s neck. The carotid is right there, and if Tony wanted to.  If he really wanted to, he could strike before Steve could even do anything.

“I loved you once,” Tony breathes out, and it doesn’t feel like dying.  It doesn’t feel like the world is about to implode. It tastes like honesty, like something has come off his chest.  “I would have died for you,” he admits to Steve’s steady exhale. “I would have burned down the world if you had just asked.  But you didn’t. And that’s probably better for everyone.”

The stars are luminous outside.  The moon reflecting on Steve is otherworldly, making the gleam of his hair white and skin glow.   Tony’s almost matches in this light, looks picturesque. “Peggy always told me, find someone who will love all of you.  Not pieces. All of you. Daniel told me, it’s not hard to love all of someone, even if they are a hellion. It’s a disservice to do less.  They loved each other so much.”

Tony takes in a short breath, sharp and pained.  “I can’t let myself love you anymore. You only see pieces.  You don’t see the full picture. This, whatever this is here, will never be equal.  Will never be on a playing field where we can see eye to eye, and I can’t let you destroy the Avengers, either group of them, any more.   I can’t let you hurt me anymore.”

“I’m tired Steve,” he sighs.  “I’m so tired, and I want more than what I have and what I am.  I’m allowed to this moment of selfishness. I’m allowed it. I just.”  He almost laughs. It bubbles up, but it goes down just as easily when he focuses.  “I wanted to know. I had to know. The engineer in me had to know how it worked. That was maybe too selfish, and I’m sorry about that.  But I want something for myself. I want a Peggy and Daniel future. I want their incandescent happiness from my childhood. Hell, I want Howard and Maria level romance.  And us? What this is brewing between us? Is heartache, where we break each other down and apart until we don’t exist anymore. Until we are half people. I can’t do that to the world, and I can’t do it to you.  I won’t.” 

He leaves his hand on Steve’s cheek, and the other man smiles in his sleep, like he knows someone he loves is there.  Tony trembles. “I can’t do that to  _ myself _ , and that matters the most, for once.”

He pulls his hand away, and carefully extracts himself from the bed.  Tony gathers his clothes quickly and makes it all the way to the doorway before turning back.  Steve has slowly shuffled towards the side where he was, searching for him.

It feels like an ending and a beginning all in one, but Tony can’t bring himself to feel guilty.  

 

 

 

From _Steve_

Can we talk Tony?

 

 

 

Tony collapses onto a pool chair in the old Malibu mansion, hand over his eyes.  “When were you going to leave the spy world and do something else, like join SI?”

Sharon looks away from her book on the history of the Cold War (God wasn’t she a tiny version of Peggy sometimes), and peers at him over her sunglasses.  “And when are you going to get your life on track and settle down with some pretty boy or girl and have a billion kids?”

“That was patronizing annnnd, I see what you did there,” Tony returns as he looks back at the view of LA in the distance.  “I just miss have someone around here sometimes.”

Sharon stays silent for a moment, and he lets the gentle melancholy float over him before passing.  “How long are you staying?” He adds before looking back and takes a longer look, knowing he can get away with it now without her commenting on it.  

She’s thinner than Peggy ever was in the older pictures, taller.  It’s a bit of the mix of genes in there, but sometimes, Sharon will look at him and it’ll be 100% Peggy in the head tilt.  Peggy never talked much about her brother Michael, but Howard had had files, and Tony, like most everything else, had inherited those.  Michael had been considered dead in during World War II, but had been later found in the 1950’s, experimented upon by Nazi’s all the way to South America.

Howard had written,  _ It wasn’t the summer sun and humidity that nearly took Peggy Carter out.  It was the man who whispered, “Margaret?”  _ And sometimes Tony thinks about, wonders if that is what it felt like for Steve with Barnes.

Because from what little he could piece together from Dad’s journals, and what little Peggy would say, Michael has been one of the early versions of the experiment that Barnes had gone through.  He has carefully held his tongue with Steve, knows Peggy has had enough good days around him that if she wanted to share the information, she would.

It’s not his place.  

“A while,” Sharon offers up finally.  “I need a break.”

“Fury mandated or personal choice?” he asks, carefully ignoring the fact that she has a bandage wrapped around her stomach under the cover up she is wearing.  He doesn’t pry anyone. She’s taught him better than that now.

“Neither,” she cheekily replies, grinning.  “Hill mandated and Widow enforced, which you know means I gotta run then.”

Tony rolls his eyes, “Why didn’t you warn me about her back in the day?”

“I was barely a level 5, so of course I was kept out of those conversations.  And Fury is careful to keep me distanced from you,” she looks over, lips in a hard line.  “Aunt Peggy kept him in the loop. He is one of the few to know how close our families still are.”

“Are we really close families or just close friends at this point?  We’re such a small pool of people these days,” Tony wonders aloud.

A door opens and DUM-E comes out and squawks about how close he has to be to the water in angry beeps before handing Tony a pair of sunglasses and speeding out.  Sharon stares for a moment before laughing outrageous and then groans, clutching her stomach. “God, Tony, only you could have a bot with as much attitude as you.”

Tony shrugs, “You know me.  I inspire humans and robots all the same.”

She laughs again, lightly, carefully.  “What’s he like?” she finally asks.

“Self possessed.  Has his ideals and runs with them.  A little judgmental, but I’m still not 100% sure how much of that is the tesseract affecting all of us, or him.  Smart, like Peggy said he was. Maybe a little suicidal, but Peggy always said he threw himself in the middle of the worst part of the fight.  Uncomfortable,” he muses aloud.

Sharon watches him as he tells her stories, and this time, he can see the ways her eyes study his expressions, trying to figure out the cues in his face.  It reminds him of Natasha, and sometimes, Tony has to lean away from reading her file to see exactly how much she has learned at Natasha’s knee. “You like him,” she says, as he finishes the story of after fight shawarma.  

“He’s interesting,” Tony replies, but there is no heat in it.  Steve’s interesting, if nothing else but for the fact Tony has heard stories about this man for years while growing up.  But there is a man in there, and he’s a mix of emotions and Tony’s always like solving problems, even people shaped ones.

Sharon nods before going back to his book.  “There’s a rumor they want to have a girl next door mission run on him,” she offers up, and Tony laughs, “Oh god, are you being asked to do it?”

She shrugs.  “They speculate I’m just similar yet different enough to get his attention.  I’m going to ask Aunt Peg, but I thought you deserved to have a heads up if you haven’t read the file yet.”

“Fury figured it out?” Tony queries.  

She laughs, “Of course.  But he’s going to use it to push you for more helicarriers or something.  You know the spy world give and take.”

“If you’re going to steal something,” he says in a mangled version of of Peggy’s accent.   Sharon joins in as they both say, “you may as well be polite about it and give the mark something they need in return, like a lock.”  They both break out into peals of laughter.

“You going to be okay?” he asks, and his voice begins to echo, ringing in his ears as the entire scene melts away.

He’s left standing in the middle of a blank landscape, and he says, “ _ Hello _ ?”

There is nothing, and it’s like the void swallows the sound.  Tony can feel his blood pressure rising, and he says, “FRIDAY?  I need you to wake me up. I really need you to wake me up.”

Then he hears a sound of a ball bouncing on pavement, and quiet hum of voices.  He starts walking before picking up the pace and lightly jogging in the darkness.  It keeps getting darker and darker, and the low hum of voices pick up in noise, louder and louder.

“Hello?” he yells.  

This time he hears a soft, “Tony?”  He turns, and it’s Wanda. She has a red ball of glowing light in her hands, her hair in a braid over her shoulder and in her pajamas he’s seen her stumble into the kitchen some mornings.  

“Hi Wanda,” he replies.  “Are you real or just a part of this nightmare?”

She reaches out with the hand not holding up the red until she wraps her long fingers around his wrist.  He can feel the warmth of her skin, and realizes he is freezing in this void. “I’m not sure.”

For a second, he sees something over her shoulder, a flicker of a boy with brown hair holding on tight to his sisters hand as they trudge through rubble.  He blinks and the image dissipates. Wanda doesn’t react like she has seen it. “I’m lost,” he says finally. “I can’t get out of here.” 

Wanda smiles, softly.  “I think I can help with that.”

Her eyes glow lightly and she twists her free hand until the ball encircles them.  The wisps feel warm, but Tony can’t but feel like he needs to run, to escape. Wanda tightens her grip on his hand, like she can read his thoughts and says,  **I need you to close your eyes Tony** without moving her lips, and at this point Tony just does what he has to, fighting the urge to do anything but what she says right now.

The warmth suddenly disappears from him, and he’s cold enough that he is shaking.  Tony opens his eyes and sees he is back in his temporary lab in Wakanda. No Wanda, no nothing.

“FRIDAY?” he says aloud.

“Boss,” FRIDAY returns, and there is something wrong with the speakers, or maybe it’s her next update because the depth of feeling that comes out of the speakers with that simple phrase is boggling.  “Boss, there is something wrong.”

Tony, doesn’t, can’t.  So he’s honest.

“Yeah,” he says.  “I know.”

He doesn’t follow it up with:  _ I don’t know what it is.   _ Or  _ I don’t know how to fix it.   _ Or  _ I’m worried that this is wrapped in so many other things.   _ Or even.  _ I think I’m dying Fry.  I think this is what dying looks like. _

He bites his tongue to keep from saying,  _ But I don’t want it to stop. _

“Take the scans,” he says instead.  “I know you can figure it out Fry.” 

Over the hum of the machine, he tries the reasons for why he is still trying, still pushing, still fighting.   _ To save people  _ isn’t 100% there.   _ To spite people _ , isn’t exactly wrong but isn’t exactly right there.

“Because,” he says out loud, and thinks of -

Peter leaning on him, pushing into Tony’s space, wanting to talk.  Wanting to work on something. Toss ideas. Who leans too close, clings just a second too long but not any longer.  Who is deceptively casual about how he feels, but if Tony takes the time, and he does these days, to look deeper, he can see Peter slowly falling apart as he tries to balance it all, and Tony just wants to help

There’s Rhodey who is always there, always has been.  Rhodey who said, “ _ Don’t you dare leave me behind again you bastard _ ,” after Afghanistan.  After New York. After Siberia.  Who shifts his entire world to make it work for Tony, again and  _ again _ .  Who is settling into this new incarnation of himself, not part of the military, not part of the government.  Just a guy who breaks down statistics about different Hydra cells until he has firm intelligence and then goes and takes them down, grinning wide enough that Tony’s just happy to see a smile.  Wants to keep it there. Doesn’t want to relive those images of his eyes closed, the blood seeping into view where there are literal holes in the armor now.

There’s Vision who brings him carefully crafted sandwiches, who has lists of all their favorite foods and allergies locked somewhere in his brain.  Who is learning the difference between knowing and  _ knowing _ , as he stumbles and tries to adapt to his new existence.  Who spends hours standing straight and staring outside windows, just watching the world turn.  Who sits in the middle of the lab, limbs akimbo, as he talks to the robots, laughs at their silent jokes, who looks almost human in the slant of the light in those moments.

There’s Bruce, close at hand but far enough away because he still doesn’t know if he’s welcome.  Doesn’t want to intrude, and Tony knows,  _ knows _ , he needs to fix that.  Tell Bruce in actual words in the moments where he is watching everyone interact, tea in hand, with a soft sad smile,  _ I’m happy to have you home, I missed you,  _ and  _ I’m a bad friend because I keep waiting for you to leave again.  _ But he can’t because every time Bruce smiles at him, warm and familiar Tony just wants to hold onto the moment a little longer.  Savor the taste of them as friends again. Cling to this familiar place. Just keep this one friendship together as they work together and bounce ideas again with the tape they’ve applied before it falls apart again - worse this time. 

FRIDAY and the bots, still learning and still growing.  Some who have been there longer than most. Who say  _ I love you, I miss you _ , and  _ you’re forgiven _ through a series of simple interactions.  There’s nothing hidden. They are always there.  Stripped bare. Too honest sometimes for Tony. Too easy.  Coded to only care about him, because he’s selfish. Because he wanted someone to love him once upon a time.  Someone for him to care for. Because he was always going to outlive them but they aren’t ready for that just yet.

There’s T’Challa who keeps him apprised of the accords standings and the UN council meetings because he has an ambassador who has relationships and quiet understandings, while Tony only has some purchased friendships that only go so far and a feed into the council meetings.  Who sends Tony simple texts like,  _ how are you? _ or  _ have you heard the latest about  _ something.  Who riles Tony up with pictures of headlines like,  _ Iron Man or Black Panther, which one is better _ or just sends him a simple cat emoji every once in a while. __ It’s a simple friendship, one with little balance either way.  Rambling conversations that easily pick up where they left off days ago, and Tony’s missed this.  The easiness, the balance of someone who has exactly the same power as him, maybe more, so he doesn’t have to hold himself to some standard.  Just be this vaguely unfamiliar person who doesn’t have to do anything there, besides just respond.

Who leaves Tony a carefully crafted opening into his own kingdom’s security that Tony exploits some nights when he’s feeling particularly lonely in his own skin, watching as Wanda puts her head on Clint’s shoulders, and he keeps her close.  How Natasha prowls around the room before settling next to Clint and Wanda, her bare toes the only thing tucked into his side as she keeps careful crafted distance between them. The way Barnes slowly blinks at his metal arm somedays, like he doesn’t know it’s there, doesn’t know it’s  _ his  _ now.  The way Steve stands there on those days, just close enough to be in reach if needed, who watches everything with sad eyes.  Who has a harder time smiling than he used to. 

\- everything he owes.  Everyone he can’t just stop fighting for.  Because he can’t just leave them hanging. His heart hitches on that last thought.  Knows it’s half a lie, but ignores it because he can’t think about that. Can’t reason with himself.  Not any more. 

He smiles, “We gotta keep moving on girl.”

“Yes Boss,” she murmurs over the sound of the machines.  “We have to.”

 

 

 

From _unknown_

So the end of the world is going down and you decided not to tell me?

From _Tony_

I would have, if I had known your super secret phone number Fury.

From _Fury_

Well you know it now.  Catch me up.

 

 

“I think,” Tony starts, and pauses, because Rhodey is right there.  His constant, and Tony doesn’t want to worry him unnecessarily, but this doesn’t seem like one of those times.  This seems like a moment where he needs to stand true. “I think there is something going on.”

Rhodey smiles.  “I mean we are hiding out in the middle of a formerly secret African country planning for the end of the world fight we don’t know when is coming, so there are a few things going on.”

Tony takes in a deep breath and goes, “No, I mean with me.”

He can see the moment it hits Rhodey.  He reaches out and grabs onto Tony’s arm.  “Tony what is going on?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Tony replies.  “FRIDAY has been keeping tracking my dream cycles, and it’s been getting weird.”

“What do you mean weird?” Rhodey asks.

And for a second Tony doesn’t want to tell him because saying it out loud makes it real.  Makes it really happening. “FRIDAY has been monitoring my dream cycles for a while, and I seem to be having medical complications.  We’re working on figuring it out, but I’m not doing so well.”

“ _ Tony _ ,” Rhodey starts as the speaker system goes off with the intruder alert alarm.

Rhodey cuts Tony a look that reads somewhere between  _ this isn’t over  _ and  _ we’re talking about this as soon as we have five minutes _ .  Tony nods, and they both take off to the common area.  

When they get in the room, there is tall, thin man in a cape.  It takes Tony a moment to place him, but when he does, Tony knows Dr. Strange.  Strange is quiet as he stands in the room. For all his dramatic appearance, he surveys them in silence.

Rhodey flinches once he realizes who he is.  “Not the usual neurosurgeon outfit,” he bites out, bitter in a way Tony hasn’t heard in a long time.  

Strange stiffens.  “C4 fracture, right?”

Rhodey nods, and Tony spots the hand Steve puts on Wilson’s shoulder as the man ducks his head minutely.

Strange raises a hand.  It tremors faintly in the light, scarred and wrinkled beyond belief.  Tony knows what those scars mean. His chest is a mess of similar white lines.  “Not much of a surgeon these days.”

“So you wear a cape and become Harry Potter.  How original" Tony cuts in, remembering hearing,  _ not interesting enough _ .

“It’s something,” the other man replies.  “But I am here to warn you. There is a dark presence coming and with him comes the potential destruction of the planet.”

“Yeah,” Clint says.  We heard that already from our alien buddy. Carries a big hammer.  Looks like he should be in a Pantene commercial. Goes by the name Thor.”

“Did you know he is here to take the remaining Infinity Stones back to power the gauntlet and destroy Earth and other planets in an attempt to court Death?” The former surgeon turned magician sharply counters.

There is dead silence before Peter offers up, “Okay, I gotta ask, is Death nonbinary or even corporeal?  Because I feel like a being needs to be all beingly in this plane of existence if they are causing this much trouble.  If this is all over a ghost, I am going to be pissed.”

Strange pauses, “So you are aware.  That makes this easier” He surveys the room before saying, “He will come after those of us have been under prolonged exposure to the stones or even carry them.”

He looks to Vision, who nods, already knowing his fate in this.  Strange then pauses on Wanda, who’s powers come from prolonged exposure to one, so that makes sense.  Then Steve, who was asleep for 70 years next to the cube, which held another one, so that makes sense to Tony before his gaze wanders to him and stays there firmly.

“Yes, you need something?’ Tony queries as everyone turns to look to him.

“You have been under the influence of the a stone before,” Strange says.  “Were you not aware?”

“Well it’s more like second hand exposure, so I thought I was safe,” Tony returns, carefully avoiding looking at Wanda.  “Unless this is exactly like smoking and second hand is almost as bad as first hand smoke.”

Strange peers at him. “You glow with the energy of the Stone.  It’s almost as bright as his,” he points to Vision. “Are you sure you aren’t using a stone?”

“My reactor was all man made, I got whammied once, but that’s about it,” Tony tosses out.  “But that is the extent of my exposure with magical stones. Actual radiation is a whole ‘nother discussion though.”

“Stones try to avoid being together since they are sentient enough to know the destruction they can bring, but certain stones harmonize and like to be near each other.  Have you experienced that?” Strange presses, and Tony begins to feel something roll under his skin.

He rolls his eyes and says a quick,  _ nope _ , while popping the p to be extra annoying.  Strange ponders it for a moment before Steve says, “I have.”  He is looking straight at Tony. 

Tony rolls his eyes, “You just experienced the full weight of my asshole personality, which is nothing new.  Don’t blame how much you hate me on a mythical stone you slept with for a billion years.”

“Tony, I don’t hate you as much as you think,” Steve insists.  “I just get this irrational wave of feelings, and - “ he waves between them.  “Here we are.”

He scoffs.  “Whatever makes you feel better Steve,” he says as he turns to Wanda and Vision to say,  _ you feel the same way you two?   _ He pushes past the mood swings he feels around Steve.  That’s just his own problems. 

But Wanda’s eyes are hazy as she looks in his direction.  “There is something,” she says, as if speaking from far away.  Her half curled fingers brush over his shoulders, up his neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Tony wants to say,  _ What are you doing?  What is going on? Wanda  _ stop _. _ _ Please back away. _  But he can’t because every cell in his body has frozen.  It’s not her magic, it’s him, stuck still, heart in his throat and pulse pounding out of control, like he knows what’s coming - but he doesn’t.  He doesn’t know what she’s sensing. But he does, because it’s there in the back of his mind, lurking. He knows. He knows exactly what is coming.

Her fingers stop right at his temple, and her other hand comes up to rest at the other side of his head, in the same spot.  “There’s something,” she repeats, even further away, like she isn’t even there as she talks to him. “If I can reach it.”

She’s in a trance, and Tony doesn’t know if it’s pulling him under the thrall too, but it feels like it.  He struggles, like swimming against a current. A salmon desperate to survive. He takes the jump up the waterfall and pushes out, “No Wanda  _ don’t _ ,” just as she gathers a smidge of red to her fingers.  

Rhodey catches what is happening and moves forward, but it’s Peter who grabs her arm, tries to pull her back, but she’s lost.  Lost in the magic, just like Tony is lost in his memories and he thinks  _ oh god it’s not BARF it’s -  _ then all Tony can feel is excruciating pain, like his brain is trying to crawl out of his skull through his ears.  Like it’s on fire. He slams to his knees, distantly aware of his fall.

There are voices, loud noises and there hands on him, and the touch is like sandpaper on his skin.  He doesn’t cry out, just barely, but he flinches away and the hands are gone. 

“ _ Tony?” _ he hears or thinks or something, he doesn’t know what’s going on 100%.  Everything is faded at the edges with his awareness now. 

“Wanda?” he says aloud and it sounds garbled, like he’s underwater.  

She reaches for him, and the warm metal of her rings is soothing.  Familiar in a distant way. Like something he’s dreamed.  **Tony wake up.** He grips her fingers tightly, threads them together like she is his only anchor to the world.  

There are hushed voices around him, people hovering because that is what people do, but Tony reaches for the sound of Wanda’s thoughts, soft and concerned.  “ **Tony, please stay with me** ,” and it’s soaking with desperation and grief he can taste in the back of his throat.  

“Wanda, it’s okay,” he says, and it sounds clearer this time, but then he gets dragged back under into the blackness while he hears snippets of voices.  

 

_ “What are you up to Tony?” Mom asks.  “An  experiment .” _

 

_ "Oh lelkem, you won't be proving everyone wrong." Ana, young, and him even younger. "You'll be proving me right." _

 

_ “We would have been good parents I think,” Jarvis.  “Oh love, we already know.” Ana at the end and still trying to keep everyone together. _

 

_ Rhodey, “ Tony, it's me. It's okay. You had to. If it's ever you versus anyone, I need you to make it out, okay?” _

 

_ “I consider you a friend,” T’Challa.  “I do not have many people in my life who see me as an equal.  I believe we could be great friends.” _

 

_ “You are my left hand.” Peggy fills more roles in his life than he can say, and it still hurts to see her. _

 

_ Steve.  “You are a good man.” _

 

_ “You focus too much on everyone else and not yourself.  You miss steps when explaining because it’s hard to talk through the steps in between.” Peter _

 

He sees it in, the middle of everything, a soft green glow coming from Strange’s chest.  There is a green stone and it resides in the eye. Tony sees the first magician put it in there, quiet chants he doesn’t understands as the eye folds closed around it.

He watches it crack down the middle, slowly over the years as various magicians use it.  Each spell the stone tries to resist, but is helpless to. He feels a wave of something and knows the crack was the only thing the stone could do.  He watches as centuries pass until it’s clearly in two. 

The right side of the gem fades, dims.  Light going in and out until it just gives up completely.  

A blonde man reaching for it, desperate for powers.  Then the right side vanishes from inside the eye completely.  

“Tony,” he hears Steve out of the murmurs, loud in his ear - in his head.  Oh god he’s going crazy. “You need to say something.”

There are hands on him, tentative and cautious.  He opens his eyes and it feels like they are weighed down with anchors.  The room is darker, the sun dipping lower with every passing moment. The room is bathed in green, and for a second he can see those damn stairs, bodies strewn across them.  Peter is there now, costume torn and mask missing. He looks young, too young, in death. Vision is a colorless husk without the stone in his forehead. Barnes is armless, Falcon is next to him, the neck at an unnatural angle.

T’Challa is at the top, pinned to a mockery of a throne, still alive, mouthing something.  And it takes Tony a moment to read his lips, but in that moment, T’Challa’s lips stop moving.  He stills, and the light fades from his eyes.

Wanda screams, and Tony looks to her.  She is in a prison of her own mist, screaming and banging her fists as she looks at him.  “ _ Run _ ,” she screams, and Tony can feel his head pounding, and he falls to his knees holding his head in his hands, and finally he opens his mouth and screams too until he blacks out.

“Tony?” Rhodey repeats, voice wary, like he has said it a million times.

He blinks back into focus.  Wanda is being held back, Peter’s lenses are narrowed and Steve has a tight hand around her shoulder.  Her face is cracked open, horror carved into the lines of her face. She is trembling, barely standing.  Clint is at her other side, all but propping her up.

“Tony,” Strange says.  He is clutching the amulet, and Tony knows he knows too - now.  They both know they have the two halves. It’s the knowledge that has lurked in the back of his mind for a while.  

He meets Strange’s gaze and laughs.  It sounds like nails on glass, and it feels like it is being ripped from his throat.  Like he has spent hours screaming his throat raw and bloody. “Found the rest of the time stone,” he bites out because he has to say it out loud.  It feels like every breath is being squeezed out of him. 

“What?” Wilson says, but Tony keeps his eyes on Strange.  Knows he knows it too. Knows he understands exactly what this means.

“Where is it?” Natasha asks, like she already knows where this is going. 

Tony can taste the blood in his mouth from where he nearly bit though his tongue.  “In my head.”

That’s when the alarms go off again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Absolutely true about Mengele and Eichmann.  They both fled to Argentina, then moved to Chile during some upheaval of the Argentinian government.  They died of old age- Mengle in South America, Eichmann in an Israeli prison. The camps are absolutely real in Chile.  Argentina is more of a legend, except for the dictator leanings towards Nazi-ism.  The Hitler portion has never been 100% proven.  (I had links but notes don't like that... If you want links to articles let me know!!)
> 
>  
> 
> Yay, here is a chapter. Yes it took me a year because I had to write a sex scene. No that isn't a joke. Excuse me while I die now. (Also, the weird characterizations have a reasoning now!!!! It's not just my terrible ability to write!!!!0

**Author's Note:**

> lelkem = my soul in Hungarian 
> 
> (also the text format is similar to aslightstep's beautiful Irreparable.)
> 
> I am on Tumblr. ookawrites.tumblr.com. I am super boring but if you want to chat, I exist there.  
>  


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